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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




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A YEAR'S SINGING 



OTHER POEAIS. 



ANSTISS CURTISS GARY. 



Author of ''One Question.' 




^P'f7'^ 



BRFNTANO'S 
2(M-2C6 Wabash A vent e, Citicago. 

1895. 






Copyright, 1894, 
By ANSTISS CURTISS GARV. 



A limited edition of one hundred copies of this book 
is printed for Subscribers. This is No 



DEDICATION. 

To the Spirit of Soug — the breath of 

whose enkindling bloweth where it listeth 

these faint echoes of its passing are rev- 
erentl}- dedicated. 



And if 1 write of love, who will hear me? 
For the world is full of lovers busied with 
their own affairs. And aught else than 
love to write of I know not, for I knew 
naught else while the folly lasted. 



ON THE NATURE OF LOVE. 



A Parable. 

THERE once lived a man the desire of 
whose heart was to find Love : and he 
sought long and earnestly and asked help 
of many, who could not help him, but only 
hindered him in his pursuit. 

Now this man had spent his youth and had 
entered upon middle age when a strange 
thing happened to him. 

He met a woman whom he wooed, as he 
wooed all sweet and beautiful and unwon 
forms which he hoped might satisfy his de- 
sire for a spiritual and individual identifi- 
cation of his own with another nature . 



6 ON THE NATURE OF LOVE. 

And the woman was gracious unto him 
and he did not tire of her as he had alwaj'S 
tired of every one who yielded to his 
demand for love. For, though charming 
and tender and necessary to him, he could 
not gain the power over her spirit, which, 
when gained, rendered each nature which 
he could control valueless, because no 
longer stimulating to his search . 

One day, while he was musing upon 
Love and his failure in winning this woman 
entirely to himself — for he had never failed 
in all his life before to receive the affection 
he demanded but could not return — he 
looked earnestly upon her, and as he looked 
he recognized the face of a woman who 
had loved him in his youth . And he cried 
to her, " How is it that you are still young, 
while I have left my youth behind me in 
my searching?" She answered, ''I am 
young because I found Love in my youth 
and am identified with it, and henceforth I 
can know no change. The mystery of the 
human heart is clear to me, for the hope 
that is of youth brings to the heart the 



(JN THE NATURE OF LOVE. 7 

knowledge of Love, and Love and God are 
one and indestructible." 

And he said, <'0 my early sweetheart! 
who has taught you these truths ? " And 
she smiled upon him and answered, ' ' You, 
my lover!" Then he asked her, "How 
could I teach you what I did not know my- 
self, what I have been asking others to 
teach me all my life ? " 

She answered him, ' 'You have sought Love 
these many years and have not found it be- 
cause you have thousjht others must brinoj it 
to you. You have not looked in the one place 
where Love can be found, — your own heart. 
There only is the fire kindled that shines back 
reflected from others' eyes: there only dwells 
that you have sought in the outer and visible 
universe and thought to find imprisoned in 
other forms. As you give of your life do 
you receive knowledge of the law of love 
that guides and binds the universe." 

Then the man hid his face and wept and 
said, « ' While I have kindled the flames of 
passion and regret and yearning in many 
hearts, yet have I now no power to create 



8 ON THE NATURE OF LOVE. 

the flame of love, that seeking not its own 
is satisfied to be of God." And he went 
sorrowfully on his way, while the woman 
who had loved him in his youth wept also 
for a little time — though she saw clearlj'^ 
through her tears that the disappearing of 
the symbol was within the thought of God 
— because the wonder and the awe of it 
seemed more than she could bear. 



L° 



She. 

the cry 

Of heart's joy when Love was 
strong! 
Heart's despair, Love proven wrong. 
Let men judge our lives as seen 
Lines between. 

He. 

Thy command 
And my answer, sweet, they go 
Side by side, that all may know 
What may be known and expressed 

Of Life's best. 

She. 

Is it one, 
This that we have known, one strength? 
Do two souls e'er reach at length 
Equalness, Love's wonder, through 

Being two ? 



10 PROLOGUE. 

This, Love's cup, 
I have drained it till no thirst 
Now proves equal to the first: 
Tasting likewise proves its sweet 

Incomplete. 

He. 

Which loved more. 
You who wandered, I who stood 
Watching vanish Life's best good? 
Useless question for us two, 

I, or you? 

When we failed 
Our own lives to understand, 
Though we stood once hand in hand, 
Think you stranger's eyes can reach 

Beyond speech? 

You and I, 
With our lives' marred texture wrought 
In the garments of our thought. 
May not be thus judged, indeed. 

While men read. 



""Whom do you love, my darling? 
Whom do you love best?" " You." 
' ' I have loved once and often. 
I have been false and true. 
Whom do you love then, dear one? 
Whom do you love best?" '• You." 

*'Whom should you fear most, sweetheart, 

If any fear should grow 

Where your great love dwells steadfast 

In your heart's stronghold?" ''Lo 

Only myself, Lover! 

If the heart failed me so. " 



12 



Morning. 

God help me to forget — was said. 

God help me to forget 
The day we parted, and, alas! 

The da}^ when first we met; 
And I can bear life's daily care 

Thus lightened from regret. 

Evening. 

God help me to recall — was said. 

God help me to recall 
The days when Love and thou wert one, 

And one was all in all! 
And I can live although I grieve 

At that which did befall. 



^ W^ZKX^B MinQlUQ, 



Mlxz, 



"Woman's pleasure, woman's pain- 
Nature made them blinder motions bounded 
in a shallower brain." 



FRUITION. 

i^N my forehead is placed the crown 
^-^ Worn for ages by all who knew 

Sweet from bitter and false from true. 
Poet, they call me, folding down 
The poet's mantle above the brown, 

Dull, woman's robe that would fain show 
through. 

While I stand wondering what was heard 
In my verses to make them dear 
Unto a listening people's ear; 

What the charm that their pulses stirred. 

Mine was no World's song. Every word 
Told one thing only, that Love is here. 

Love has come, I sang, loud or low; 

Love is here on the earth again; 

Love that vanished away from men • 
Winters and summers, and years ago. 
Love is here in the paths we know. 

Love shall comfort us now as then. 

14 



FRUITION. 15 

Songs of everything 'neath the sun, 
Poets haA^e written, glad and free, 
Tales of the ancient chivalry, 
Peace and war ; and the World's ' 'Well done !" 
Followed their fancies one by one. 
Echoed in praise of their melody. 

But I have written of Love alone. 

From quiet places where we did meet. 
Through moonlight's glamor and sunset's 
fleet; 
Somewhat uttered, of rapture showm. 
Something told that the heart has known. 
Of Love's wonderment, incomplete. 

That is all, not enough to claim 

Poet's honors — my lips would shrink, 
The cup's sacrament some must drink 

Ere entitled to bear such name. 

Love is waiting me then, not Fame, 
Whatsoever the people think. 



16 SHE. 

THE QUERY. 

WHAT would you give me if you came, 
Lover, for whom I have no name? 
What could you offer to satisfy 
This want eternal, whose center I ? 
Would you give to life or destroy its grace, 
If we stood acknowledged once, face to 
face? 

Love, I know, and His might that drives 

Low contentment from out our lives. 

Would I be wiser if I saw 

The spirit's form in the letter's law? 

Would I be happier if I heard 

In mortal accents Love's strange new word? 

Would you prove the reason that never 

came 
For the lack of gold in the sunset's flame? 
Would you be enough ? Could you make 

quite clear 
My life's unreason without you, dear? 
soul unknown, held awhile by fate! 
Do I want or dread you? The risk is 

great! 



THE QUERY. 17 

I am myself. If j^ou came and proved 
All that ever in man was loved 
Could I lose that self hood in finding you? 
give me, Lover, an answer true! 
To lose were bitter, to gain were all, 
The answer waits^ yet I dare not call. 



18 SHE. 

SOLUTION. 

I THOUGHT that I should not find you, 
I thought you were yet to be, 
Or had been and had not waited 

For your other selfhood, me. 
I thought all thoughts, save the false one 

That you did hot need me more 
Than any wonderful living 

You might know or had known before ; 
Than all that the worlds might offer, 

Such thought was, I felt, untrue, 
That you did not need me and want me, 

As I missed and wanted 3^ou. 

I thought of all that might happen, 

Or had happened since God sent 
Us forth as His thought -perfected. 

In one grand spirit blent, 
Before the descent into matter, 

Before the Fall and the Curse 
Parted and drove us seeking 

For each through the Universe. 
mine in the black of the midnight! 

Mine in the glare of the sun, 
Mine, all mine in the spirit. 

One, aye, very one! 



SOLUTION. 19 

Mine, as in the Beginning, 

Mine, when Time's laws shall cease. 
Mine, through all meeting, parting. 

Sure that the end is peace! 
Face after face I looked into 

To find the one I knew ; 
Voice after voice I hearkened, 

Nor caught the echo true. 
Heart after heart I questioned, 

The answer each failed to give ; 
Nor ever a moment doubted 

That true heart's love did live. 

For I was certain, Beloved, 

You would not prove untrue. 
When once through the misty darkness 

M}' arms encircled 3'ou. 
This could not be, I knew surely. 

Through the sore mistakes I made. 
As I met and trusted in shadows. 

By each in turn betrayed. 
Lover, my Lover, Lover mine! 

I knew by the false that the true muyt be, 

I knew, while longing, your need of me 
Somewhere in God's Divine! 



30 SHE. 

And so I sang to 5'ou, sweetheart, 

Through the hours of the day : 
Sang while the East glowed brightly, 

Sang when the skies were gray. 
Sang as the lark sings, gaily, 

Rising to meet the sun 
Before the answering glory 

Stilleth the orison. 
Sang when the soul mists darkened 

Sang while I nothing heard, 
Until one day was the silence 

Thrilled by your answering word. 

Then I remembered slowly. 

Hearing your voice again. 
All the length of the journey, 

All the yearning and pain : 
All the lives we had wasted. 

Searching creation through, 
Since the fiat was sounded, 

Parting me, love, from you. 
Lover, loved of the spirit, 

And never in earth-form found, 
Lo now is broken the circle 

Of our lives' unceasing round ! 



SOLUTION. 

Now God be praised for all effort ! 

I praise God for His grace! 
That here while yet in the body 

I look upon your face. 
Aye, here and now in life's turmoil 

Doth all my soul rejoice, 
To hear Love's " new name " uttered 

Beloved, by thy voice! 
Never again to journe}"! 

The soul's release is shown, 
When through the darkness of matter 

Love comes unto his own. 



SHE. 



AT MEETING. 

OLO VE, my love ! the tender words that 
rise 
From heart to faltering lips at this surprise, 
This sudden joy at standing where thou 
art, 
Do tremble into stillness most complete, 
And are not missed, nor needed, in the sweet 
Strong silence that enfolds us heart to 
heart. 

Love, my strength ! because of coming da3^s, 

1 fain would turn to one great song of praise 

Each voiceless sorrow of the vanished 
years. 
What now avails life's former pain or bliss 
Since, swift or slow, the moments led to this? 
And, near thy heart, mine hath no room 
for fears. 



REVELATION. 23 



REVELATION. 

UNTIL I loved thee, dear, I did but know 
In part God's love for us; but now 
there is 
No wonder in me at the sacrifice 
Through which He sought such tenderness 

to show. 
All past bewilderments, all questions low 
On life, or death, or immortality. 
Are solved now forever more for me, 
Throusfh this new Revelation's awful ojlow. 

Mj own! my love! there has been nothing 
done 
By God or man I would not do to make 
Complete thy being : naught I would not 
take 
Upon my heart, if so through thine might 
run 
The life-blood lightened from griefs that 

would prove — 
Borne in thy stead — no longer griefs to 
love. 



24 SHE 



w 



THE LOVE LETTER. 

HEN first upon my eager sight did glow 
Thy love-words, Beloved! the day 
was fair, 
And summer's gracious beauty filled the 
air, 
As joy my heart. I hastened to and fro 
Among my daily tasks till T could go, 
Unclaimed by lesser voices, and could dare 
Listen to thine where there was none to 
share 
My rapture save the silence. This did grow 
For my strange joy too loud! Beloved, I 
Have borne great sorrows more courage- 
ously 
Than this great good. In them I could 
descry 
Life's needed discipline, but when to me 
Thy spirit calls, my answer is a cry 
Revealing all my insufficiency! 



AWAKENED. 2^ 

AWAKENED ! 

/~\ my love, my own, that I had some 

^— ^ word to describe it ! 

Word to prison it in, that so it might not 

die with me ! 
There is no word save love. Love means 

both passion and object. 

Is it joy or pain that I feel, in this strong 

new sense of rebellion? 
Is it hope or fear, this unrest that will not 

let me be happy? 
I shall never be happy again. I have paid 

that price for your kisses. 
Never again shall I know the half-content 

of the happy. 

O my love, m}^ own ! Do they know, who 

call themselves loving. 
This that we know, when we stand with eyes 

too blind through their rapture 
To gaze on each other's face, with hearts too 

faint through their beating 
To hold the wonderful strength, that through 

their weakness is wasted? 



SHE. 



Love, that means sacrament, this, does it 
come to all of the creatures 

That use the word lightly between times, 
between their laughing and sighing? 

That laugh and kiss and forget, and say 
they have loved one another? 

Love, that surging through, cleaves the 
heart so undone by its proving, 

Rend'ringit all unfit thenceforward for hold- 
ing contentment; 

Weakest and strongest of all, is it one to 
weakest and strongest? 

Love ! the triune, that means pain and hope 

beyond power of describing; 
Love! ne'er so swift in his flight but the 

shadow abides of his passing ; 
Love ! the betrayer perchance ; the comforter 

maybe, but always 
The Wonder one could not but choose, 

though one knew the choice ended in 
sadness. 



AWAKENED. 



my love, my own, lo, this you have 

taught me o'ermasters 
Even the teacher's power : never again can 

you claim it! 
Love and yourself are not one; though you 

brought to me through your choosing, 
Force and direction and strength, my life had 

not held, sweet, without you. 
Now though you come or go, yet all 

through the coming and going 
Love, the reality stays: I may live no 

lonoer without it. 



28 SHE. 

HEART'S GIVING. 

\1 7HAT is there that I would not give 

' ' thee, Love, 
For blessing, aid or comfort? These my 

days? 
Why Life itself seems such a little thing, 
I put it first of all I'd give to prove 
The passion's deathless might whose fer- 
vent ways 
I vainly strive in hindering words to sing. 

I must have given thee Peace, for I no more 
Can find it in my heart, and long ago 
The strength that filled its pulses was be- 
trayed 
To follow when thy shadow leaves my door; 
Within which I sit listlessly, nor know 
Life's sweetness while thy presence is de- 
layed. 

What do I give thee Love? now that Life's 

best 
Is lavished on thy head and all is spent. 



HEARTS GIVING. 29 

What is there left to give that thou wilt 

take? 
Why all is left that was; still unconfessed, 
This w^onder with our being is so blent 
We are made rich, not poorer^ for its sake! 



30 SHE 

JONQUIL. 

\1 70ULD it have been any sweeter 
^^ If you had known its name? 
Could the keen delight that its presence 

w^rought 
Have been more in knowing the World's 

wise thought 
Called Jonquil its prisoned flame? 

Would the gold of its cup have been deeper, 
If some one had told you why 
It rose from its six-starred petals up, 
Or formed for your breathing an incense- 
cup, 
In the hour's delight gone by? 

We did not know in the moment 

I fastened it over my heart 

Its name; but we said that in scent and 

glow 
It seemed akin to the flowers that grow 
When the Nile's dusk waters start. 



JONQUIL. 31 

scent, and color, and sweetness 
Enshrined in the Jonquil flower! 
tard}' knowledge that proves at best 
More incomplete in the secret guessed 
Than the charm of the asking hour! 



33 SHE. 



THE PALE VIOLET. 

O VIOLET, whom the Sun hath kissed 
Until the color thou didst show 
His glances first from amethyst 
To palest blue hath changed so, 
Were these same kisses worth the cost 
Of this thy bloom thus early lost? 

Were it not better hadst thou bloomed 
In some still, shaded spot, nor known 
The ardor of the strength that doomed 
Thy sweet thus unreserved shown? 
Thou wert not strong enough for this 
The rapture of His cloudless kiss! 

I will not stay to hear what thou 
Might' st answer me; in truth thou hast 
An air content, and, even now, 
When this, thy beauty's wholly past, 
Were the choice offered thee once more 
No doubt thou'dst lose it as before. 



NATURE AND LOVE. 33 

NATURE AND LOVE. 

WHAT would 3^011 do, what would you 
say, 
Dear heart, dear love, if here to-day? 
Here, where the wondrous breath of 

June 
Fills all the golden afternoon 
With odors, stayed a little space. 
From wandering to their destined place, 
By earth's content stayed as they rise 
From Paradise to Paradise! 

What ^jduld you do, or say, to make 
The Perfect in itself partake 

In our degrees of sweet content. 

In our despairs at banishment 
Each other's dearer self therefrom? 
love, howev^er near we come 

To Nature's peace her secrets wait 

From human reach still separate! 

My own dear love, the birds will sing 
As now in each successive spring : 
And coming seasons still will grace 
With beauties all their own this place : 



34 SHE. 

And tree and flower will deck this spot 

As now they do when we are not : 
And lovers yet unborn will see 
And leave unsolved this mystery. 

Alas that language holds no word 
Wherewith to speak, wherein is heard 
The love that by its magic makes 
The heart unfit for sweet, that aches 
Where it should bless, when it is shown 
Earth's fairest scenes, and sees, alone! 
Whate'er we reach has not amid 
The charms thus reached contentment 
hid. 

And this the reason, sweetheart, why 
The glories of the earth and sky 

Smite as with pain the hearts that beat 
With such a double sense; that greet 
Each gracious scene the earth can show 
With half the strength to see and know 
That courses through the self-possessed 
Strong hearts, unstirred by Love's unrest. 



COMPARISON. 35 

COMPARISON. 

WOU sing of strong things, having known 
-■■ them, ay! 

Of strong things, lining where such things 

are found. 
Daily your feet gain new strength from the 

ground, 
And your face draws it from the arching sky. 
And so, through all your singing rings a cry 
Of healing for the evils that abound 
In these men's lives, thus gathered close 

around. 
Your nobler living to be helped thereby. 

But I — my life the strength has only 

known 
That comes from Sorrow's touch, and I can 

ring 
This knowledge only through the songs I 

sing. 
Men do not gather grapes from thorns, 

though grown 
Where once a vineyard bloomed, and so, 

my friend. 
Your songs shall live, while mine with me 

shall end! 



36 SHE, 

AFTERMATH. 

A LL the earth is clothed with glory 
^^ This glad-morn! From bush and tree 
Do the birds repeat the story 
Of Love's tender mystery. 
Is it, 'all the earth'? Beloved — that? or 
but my thought of thee? 

Surely no wild bird's breast thrilling 

To its mate's song overhead, 
Feels the rapture that is filling 

My glad pulses, half-afraid 

Even yet to lose the olden measure by 
past sorrow made. 

And no wild flower, 'mid the sparkling 
Of the dew upon its leaves, 

Doth 80 soon forget the darkling 
Vapors that the night-time breathes. 
As my soul forgets, and, freely this glad 
morn, its past forgives . 

I have wandered near Death's shadows, 
Lived with Sorrow, known Despair, 

Ere I found the pleasant meadows. 
Which, beneath Love's sunshine, wear 
Evermore through changing fortune, this 
serene, unchanging air. 



FOREBODING. 37 

FOREBODING. 

OLOVE, my love, still the winter lingers! 
I dread the summer, I dread the 
spring. 
What strange new joy in her strong young 
fingers 
To us can the fairest of seasons bring? 
What time like this when our blessed 
passion 
Finds through snow and cold its fair blos- 
soming? 

love, my love ! can the summer bring to us 
More of beauty and warmth and glow 

Than now we find, or its breezes sing to us 
Sweeter songs than we hear and know 

While, sheltered safe in the fire-light's circle. 
Beyond in the darkness the night winds 
blow? 

The winter wanes. In each swift bright 
morning. 

Hints of the earth-change soon to be, 
Subtle, elusive, yet sure, give warning 

That now is ending for you and me 
Snow-softened close of the dearest season 

That years can render or eyes can see . 



oS SHE. 

love! in the waiting years now hidden, 
That may o'erwhelm us with joy or pain, 

There is no rapture or grief forbidden 
To our heart questioning, eager, vain, 

1 have not tasted through love's foreknow- 

ledge : 
There is naught henceforth worth the 
life's attain. 

There is naught to reach of a greater wonder ; 

There is naught to seek of a fiercer bliss ; 
And Past and Present are rent asunder. 

And Future's lustre made dim by this. 
From farthest point of the soul's srand orbit, 

The way turns back through the dark 
abyss. 

love, my love! 'gainst the law supernal, 
The changeless law that life's changes 
show, 
The law of action and rest eternal. 

The law resistless that all things know, 
What strength have we to withstand the 
summons, 
All nature hearing, that soundeth "Gro?'' 



FOREBODING. 39 

And is it helpful, the higher knowing? 

Or may we turn from its light aside, 
Nor feel nor reason about the showing 

Of intuitions, unproved, untried? 
O love, my love ! with the clearer vision 

Such power is ended, such choice denied. 



40 SHE. 

UNACKNOWLEDGEMENT. 

T T is not night. The sunset still is filling 
^ With ruddy glow 

The western sky, that yet seems all unwill- 
ing 

To thus let go 
The source of its completement, whose strong 
light 

Retards the night. 

It is not night. Above the sunset's splen- 
dor 

The blue sky holds 
Through half its arch, a fairer light, more 
tender 

Than that which folds 
The horizon with gleaming bars, whose hue 
The sun looks through 

1 scarce can feel this white and blue and 
golden 

Soft canopy, 
That spread before my gaze conceals the 
olden 

Dark mysterj' 
Of space, star-lined, that puzzles by its 
might 

The human sight. 



UNA CKNO WLEDGEMENT. 4 1 

It is not night, 'though now is growing 
sharper 

The still, clear air. 
The sky's pale azure tint is surely darker. 

And, here and there 
The gleaming of the stars as they appear 

Proves night is near. 

It is not night ; and so I haste to curtain 

From out my sight, 
The last faint remnant of the rare, uncer- 
tain, 

Fast fading light, 
Before the dreaded darkness gath'ring fast 

Brinsfs night at last. 



42 SUE. 

GOOD BYE. 

f^ OOD bye ! Dear love before me stir 
^-^ The shadows of the things that were. 
The memory of each past delight 
Keturns to make more dark my night : 
The echo of our parting sigh 
The only sound, our last Grood bye. 

Since our first mother coined the word 

From her first heartache, has been heard 

It's wail through Time's immensity. 

God grant that His Eternity 

May not be deep enough, nor high 

To hold earth's saddest word — Good bye! 

Good bye ! Some say the words do mean 
" May God be with thee." When between 
Thy face and mine the moments run 
Their 'lotted course beneath the sun, 
And each one swift, or slow, doth part 
Us farther still. Good bye, sweetheart! 

God be with thee. Beloved, aye 

The very God we crucify 

Afresh in loves that leave no space 

In burning hearts for His dear grace 

Until to us He sends this cry 

To drown all lighter sounds — Good bye 1 



GOOD BYE. 43 

Good bye! Around me rings the roar 
That men call silence! Nevermore 
Can solitude itself be free 
From this strong call, that holds for me 
All future pain, all joys that I 
Renounce to it. Dear love, Good bye! 



SHE. 



SATIS VERBORUM. 

AIT" HAT man cometh after the King? 
' ' Prince or Noble, perchance, the grace 
Of gentle breeding upon his face. 
What charm in the gifts that his hand may 

bring 
To make glad the heart that has known 
the King? 

What man cometh after the King? 

What future trouble can stir the breast 
That thus lives on having known life's 
best? 
What future shadow worth noticing 
By the sunlit eyes that have seen the King? 

What man cometh after the King? 
Many a one in his own degree, 
Treading the paths of his destiny. 

Life does not cease, though we cease to 
sing 

All lesser praise than is due the King ! 



ENTREATY. 45 



ENTREATY. 



KISS me love! and it shall be 
With our lives as when at first 
Love's empurpled blossom burst 
Into flower for you and me. 

Kiss me love, and we'll remember 
But Love's sweetness, not the stings 
That from June-time to December 
Made the days such bitter things! 

Kiss me, love ! and we'll forget 

All the long cold hours we've seen; 

All the heart-ache that has been 
Since thy lips and mine have met. 

Kiss me! give me strength to go 
All unkissed through hours and days 

That await us ere we know 
An hour like this, through Time's delays. 



46 SHE. 

SANS COURAGE. 

T AM so tired of it all! 

* Never a moment without! 

Spread over life as a pall 

Falls o'er the dead, so the doubt 
Clings to the hope blotted out. 

O for the power to forget 

Though but for a day! One could bear 
More bravely life's bitter regret 

With a day thrown between, in which 

care 
And remembrance's sharp pain had no 
share. 

Somewhere the days grandly pass 
Free from this shadow, I know: 

Is it too much if one has 

One such day to one's self, if that so 

Comes strength through all others to go? 

Ah, but the country lies far. 

Over which spreads the wonderful haze 
That conceals with invisible bar 

The realm of the passionless days, 
Whose peace the heart's grieving allays! 



SANS COURAGE. 47 

And the gate is so narrow, that one 
Must pass through its portal alone : 

And when the long journey's begun 

One returns not again, though we moan 

By the entrance- way sealed with a stone. 



48 SHE. 

MY CHAIN. 

I MADE my chain a goodly show 
With garlands fair to see ; 
I held it up that all might know 

How light it seemed to me ; 
I ran beneath it to and fro 
As one whose steps were free. 

From every tortured link I rang 

G-ay music, light and vain; 
And all around me laughed and sang 

In praise of this, my chain ; 
Nor' heard amid the music's clang 

The echo of my pain. 
But sometimes, as I ran, I met 

Some man's face, grave and white, 
Held heavenward, with no regret 

Between it and God's light; 
But, glancing on the Ideal, it yet 

Beheld no lowlier sight. 
And then a discord sharp and strong 

Fell on my music's ring; 
And that which seemed so light, erelong 

Became a grievous thing; 
And as I passed, I hushed my song, 

Through my soul's wearying. 



MY CHAIN. 

And then again some man I'd see 
Whose chain, so bare of grace 

Yet nobly borne, made Destiny 
Assume such minor place 

To his grand will, small mirth for me 
Lived while I passed his face. 

Yet, through it all, the vanity, 
The shame, keen, passionate 

That sweeps my soul the while I see 
These nobler lives, I wait 

With dread the hour that takes from me 
The chain I cannot hate! 

Ah what strange J03", what new delight 

Can take the place of this. 
My burden borne through day and night, 

Through mirth and weariness, 
Till it has grown within my sight 

The dearest thing that is? 

It may be that, when shines for me 

' 'The light that never shone 
O'er any earthly land or sea, " 

I still may clasp my own, 
And know that Pain's reality 

Was but God's benison. 



50 SHE. 



THROUGH MISSING YOU. 

THROUGH missing you the fairest flowers 
Hold subtle poison in the scent 
Which brought me once such sweet con- 
tent, 
You being by to share the hours ; 
All colorless their brightest hue, 
Through missing you. 

Through missing you gay music's beat 
Hath lost its power to soothe or cheer ; 
It falls upon the listless ear 

With harmonies made incomplete. 
In spite of all that skill may do, 
Through missing you. 

Through missing you my life has grown 

To such a weariness, that I, 
I sometimes fear it may be shown 

To you some day a thing put by, 
As all unworth the living through. 
Through missing you. 



STORMING HEAVEN. 51 



STORMINa HEAVEN. 

/^PEN the door and let me in! 
^-^ The wind is blowing and cold the 
night. 
The darkness sinks on my aching sight. 
From thronging shadows of care and sin, 
Open the door and let me in! 

Open the door and let me in! 

The earth is reeling beneath my feet. 
The dregs of the wine o'er taste the sweet. 
From the passionate pain of my life's has 
been, 

Open the door and let me in ! 

Open the door and let me in! 

To reach the echo which filled at best 
Each earthly joy with its vague unrest. 

Lo, where earth's dreams and its hopes begin 
Their true fulfillment, 0, let me in! 



53 SHE. 

Open the door and let me in! 

The darkness stirs and the East grows red, 
When the bounding pulse of one's life has 
fled, 

What matter how fair the days begin? 
From the yesterdays, open and let me in! 

Open the door and let me in 

To Thy sense of Peace and the purer air 
Of life immortal abiding there ! 
Thou who suffered and died to win 
The gate's unbarring — now let me in! 



REINCARNATION. 53 



REINCARNATION. 

T Have known you before, 
-^ Long before the sad day we met 
Calling it " first time." We regret 
Vainly all of that meeting's power. 
We were not strangers, love, that hour: 
We may be strangers, love, no more. 

I have lived this before — 
All this wearying, complex pain, 
All this fever in heart and brain. 
Many times must the struggle break 
Life and thought for the human sake; 
Many times as we found of yore. 

All has been felt before — 
Bitter sting in the unprized life, 
Ceaseless consciousness of the strife. 
Lived before, known before, e'en as now. 
Trust and failure — one knows not how. 
Though one remembers it o'er and o'er. 



54 SHE. 

I shall come back once more — 
Once? Nay, many times till there be 
No more charm in the pain for me. 
You will turn from the perfect rest 
In highest Heaven at Love's behest 
Since this has been for us, love, before. 

Though we return once more, 
Sometime, love, from the bonds of Fate 
Freedom awaits us. Soon or late 
Comes release, and the love that mars 
Bears its healing within its scars 
While we perfect it, o'er and o'er. 



UNCERTAINTY. 55 



UNCERTAINTY. 



O Heart's Beloved, all the air 
Is whitened with the snow! 
Where are you, Beloved, where? 

To you I may not go. 

And if your sky be dark or fair, 

Alas, I may not know ! 

I know not if the sunlight falls 
Upon thee cold or warm ; 

Or if God's thought of thee befalls 
Though present good or harm ; 

Or if to me thy spirit calls ; 
I only feel the storm! 

0, Heart's Desire, if I might know 
Some grave-clod held thee fast! 

Then safe beneath this cloak of snow 
My fears for thee were cast: 

My hopes of thee were ended so, 

And heart's peace found at last. 



56 SHE 

I know not and I may not know. 

There is no greater grief : 
In this uncertainty of woe 

The heart finds no relief. 
I could bear to see you dead, 

Were I. but sure to-day 
You still were all uncomforted 

As when you went away ! 



USELESS GRIEF. 57 



USELESS GRIEF. 

OGOD! was ever sorrow like this one 
That prej^s upon my life? So dark it 
is 
I may not ask for it the sympathies 
Of loving friends, and so I sit undone 
With its dark shadow 'tween me and the 
sun. 
Was ever sorrow like this one? remiss 
In all of use one wrings from Grief's sad 
kiss 
The strength for nobler things through 
trial won. 

When one may turn heart-sorrow unto good 
'Tis rather to be chosen than great bliss: 
But this my Grief's unnamed nor under- 
stood. 
If it took shape at all the shape were this, 
That one loved more than Thou has fallen 

where 
One nevermore may help his soul's despair! 



58 SHE. 



MY LIFE. 

T^HE life that was my own, 
^ Give it to me again. 

You are so strong, j^ou men; 
Now let your strength be shown. 

It is beyond you still. 

It rests not in your will ! 

We could not know, of course. 

Just what the love would prove; 

Nor how far we might move, 
Together held by its force. 

There is fault somewhere — whose? 

The one who most doth lose? 

I had heard long before 
I ventured all — and lost — 
What Love's frail tenure cost. 

What passion proved at core. 
I knew what lives had missed 
Before we met and kissed! 



MY LIFE. 59 

And yet there was no power 

In knowledge thus possessed 

To hinder Love's unrest 
From being mine this hour. 

There was no choice — you stood 

For utmost ill or good. 

Where is your strength my heart? 

What, made so weak by this! 

One pays, you know, for bliss: 
Ere life and Love may part, 

One pays, though, at first thought 

Love seemed a gift, unsought! 

If one should find and know — 

If one should gain at length 

Through great forgiveness — strength ; 
What shall atone? although 

Turned back to God, life yet 

Remains His unpaid debt. 

His debt! could God know such — 

Debt, stronger than His grace 

May ere again efface. 
Should one forgive o'er much 

Is thus life's wrong made right, 

Or cancelled in His sight? 



60 SHE. 

WAITING. 

TVTOT in the darkness, where 

*■ ^ The light may break on the asking eyes 

Some joyful morn with a glad surprise, 
But in the steady glare 

Of desert sands and unclouded skies . 

Not as they wait who know 

That the night will end, or as they who 
reach 

An added grace and a purer speech 
Because of tears that flow 

Over life's bitterness sent to each. 

Not as they wait whom God 

Delights to pardon, because they see 
With eyes of faith, that the days to be. 

And the paths untrod. 

Are one with the past in life's unity. 

Waiting because one must, 

With the sting of remembered life to 
make 

The dreariness of the present ache ; 
Feeling it all unjust. 

The death's deferring, the life's mistake. 



WAITING. 61 

Eyes that have seen the light 

Of the Gods descend ! lips that drank 

their wine! 
Heart-beats as strong as the Past knew 
mine! 
One may endure this blight, 

But no strength is to feel such is right! 

Waiting, f utureless, strong ; 

Choosing not the desireless life, 
All the force in the soul at strife 

With its enduring wrong, 

Its returned purpose endlessly rife. 

When it is rendered plain, 

Shown to me fairly, good from ill. 
Then shall the voice in the heart be still. 

All its rebellion slain, 

Its murmur hushed with the conquered 
will. 



62 SHE. 



REMEMBER ME. 

r\ THOU Completeness! shadowed 

^-^ By my great agony and dread ^ 

Remember me. I cannot pray. 

I have no strength to seek the way. 
Lest madness claim my soul from Thee 
Whose thought I am, remember me ! 

Remember where Thy glory shines, 
The outer darkness where I dwell . 

Remember that my soul opines 

Thy highest Heaven from deepest Hell. 

Remember all I yet may be. 

Christ of God, remember me! 



RETROSPECTION. 63 



KETROSPECTION. 

A S naked, new-born souls who vainly 
-**■ yearn 

For the lost raiment that was theirs erst- 
while, 
The raiment of the body, to beguile 
Truth's searching flame, they may no longer 

spurn 
Or seek at their own pleasure, — so I turn 
My glances backward from my long exile, 
From out his court Love's shielding to dis- 
cern. 

But no trace of Love's vesture doth remain : 
The shifting days have stolen, needlessly, 
All proof of his sojourning once with me. 

Beloved, Beloved! this refrain 

Makes what I know of silence ; while I see 

No more Love's comfort cast around his pain. 



64 SHE 

SOUL GREETING. 

f^ THOU, who once did stand 

^-^ For Life's supremest good, 

Over the sea and land 

The midnight hour doth brood. 

Where'er on land or sea 

Thy consciousness doth wake, 

Answer the Soul of Me, 

For our great dead love's sake! 

I have no claim upon 
Thy days and weeks and years : 
I lost, and Time has won 
What of thy life appears. 
Thy rapture or thy pain 
Not mine by God's decree ; 
Yet doth one hour remain 
Unto the Soul of Me. 

Whate'er thy thought has been, 
This hour it meets with mine, 
The inner world within. 
By Love's remorseless shrine. 
Till thou didst share God's power 
Conscious I might not be. 
Lo, this is thine, this hour! 
This voice, the Soul of Me. 



SOUL GREETING. 65 



charm me with thy voice, 

1 may no longer hear 

By my own will or choice, 
Nor with the outward ear! 
Lo! I have earned the right 
Through days of misery. 
To this one hour's delight, 
G-ranted the Soul of Me . 

clasp me close as when 
With naught between we stood 
With Grod apart from men 
In Love's beatitude! 
Out of the dark I call 
To what we yet shall be 
When Love is lord of all, 
Answer the Soul of Me. 

Then back into the dark! 
When morning breaks no trace 
Of this hour's passion- mark 
Shall rest upon my face. 
The years resume their sway. 
Whelmed in Life's surging sea 
Silent, through night and day 
Pauses the Soul of Me! 



66 SHE. 

MISAPPREHENDED. 

YOU promised on one of the summer days 
Of this old, old year, that now nears 
its end ; 
To sing from the many the people praise, 
Your song most cherished, to me, j^our 
friend. 
I should hear, poet ! "the best'" you said, 
Ere the sunset's light in the sky grew red. 

We left the city and strayed along 

Through the gold of the summer afternoon, 

And listened, pleased, to a bird's sweet song 
That followed our going, and it was June 

When, each in the other so wholly blest, 

We followed the sunlight toward the West. 

There is time enough for the song, we said 
When the heart beats slower, and when 
the breath 
Less fluttering comes through the lips, afraid 

To touch their Heaven this side of Death. 
There is time enough for a song to bless 
When rapture sinks into happiness. 



MISAPPREHENDED. 67 

So we wandered on, till we reached again, 
Through the pathway's turning, the place 
where long 
The strife for power in the lives of men 

Has dulled and saddened the spirit's song: 
And you joined the throng, that, with rest- 
less feet 
Moves ever on through the city's street. 

And so, my poet, it came about, 

You being busy, and I too full 
Of joy in your presence to think or doubt. 

That the moment passed and the skies 
grew dull 
And the night descended, and still no word 
Of the promised singing mine ear had heard. 

Yet often now, as the night- wind sighs, 

I dimly feel as I sit alone, 
While the firelight brightens and sinks and 

dies, 
That perhaps, unheeded, my life has known 
The wondrous singing I thought to reach 
Alone through the words of our human 
speech. 



68 SHE. 



Ah, ' 'the best, " the fleeting, misunderstood ! 

Seen only fairly when set apart. 
Heard only truly when winters rude 

Make keen each sense of the listening 
heart. 
Has the soul e'er yet in its wondering quest 
Known the passing moment we call "the 
best"? 



THE MYSTERY, 69 



THE MYSTERY. 

SOMEBODY said unto me, 
"If you will turn your head 
I promise that you may see 

One who was long since dead. " 
I turned not to left or right. 

But answered, ' 'This vision dear 
Has been within my sight 
This many and many a year. 



Somebody said unto me, 

' 'If you will listen, Lo, 
You may hear the voice of one 

Who loved you years ago!" 
I smiled but I did not seek 

To make plain my dear delight. 
"The voice of which you speak 
Is not silenced day or night." 



70 SHE. 



Somebody said unto me, 

"The years both give and take 
How can you thankful be 

Through life for a dead Past's sake?" 
I said, '^In Love's sight there is 

No Future or Past to fear ; 
All beautiful things are his. 

All knowledge is now and here." 



I said, "The symbols fail. 

And ever the idols fall ; 
One thing we may not assail 

The love that is over all. 
This you would promise me 

Already is made my own. 
I know in Love's mystery, 

Lo! even as I am known." 



Sc. 



" Rather yet that I could raise 

One hope that warm'd me in the days 

While still I yearn'd for human praise." 



THE LOVED ONE. 

A VISION of the shadows 'neath her eyes, 
Like violets languid with the heavy 
dews 
Of night's touch still upon them, doth arise. 

The sounding of her foot upon the stair, 
Like music heard in strange wild places, far 
From haunts of man, makes tremulous the 
air. 

The color that her soft round cheek doth 

flush 
Tints also the fair petals of the rose. 
The sweet wild rose upon the wayside bush 



HE. 



The light that shineth in her clear gray eyes, 
Is like the surface of some mountain lake, 
When o'er it first dawn's meaning doth arise. 

The memory of her beauty and her peace, 
Like the calm strength obtained from 

sunset's hour, 
Abides with me where e'er my dwelling 
place. 



INSIGHT. 73 



INSIGHT. 



/^NE might easily be a poet, 
^-^ If one could be always thrilled 
With a present sense of the beauty 
With which the grreat earth is filled. 



But how can one write of green meadows, 
And the might of the mountain's wall, 

When the eye sees only gray housetops 
Through a garret's low casement small ? 



And how can one write of the ocean. 

When the health and strength of its breath 

Is spent on half the wide world before 
To the writer it traveleth? 



Not all the lore of the ancients, 

Can show to the mind the way 
Wherein to write of the sunset, 
When all of the sky is gray. 



74 HE. 



There is only one way, my darling, 
That the miracle can be done ; 

This, with the thought of you in my heart, 
I have them all, every one. 



And so I can sing for a lifetime 

Of Life's wonderful beauty and grace; 
Though I live apart from world glories. 

Having looked, dear love, on your face. 



GOOD NIGHT. 75 



GOOD NIGHT. 

/"^ OOD night! The world is hidden from 
^-^ view; 

The silence thrills with thoughts of 3'ou. 
God keep you in His shadows strong 
From harm and wrong. 

Good night! Beyond the weary screen 
Of miles that stretch our lives between, 
And hide you from my longing sight 
I call — good night! 

Good niglit! Since I am sure somewhere 
Your kindly presence makes most fair 
All days and nights, love's gratitude 
Doth make night good. 



76 HE. 

CLOUD LAND. 

OTHE wonderful summer weather! 
the sheen on the hillside fair! 
Made by sunlight and shade together, 
Through which we entered the Cloud Land 
rare 
To be Love's followers there. 

the catch in the breath, when rapture 
Merges into its twin-born pain! 

the joy in its fresh re-capture! 
the sweet in the passion slain! 

These are the Cloud Land's gain. 

the passionate, sobbing wonder, 
Meager heart-room to hold so much! 

the loss in the lives asunder! 
the bliss in the present touch! 

Know the world dwellers such? 

They who see but the Cloud Land's border, 
Eeaching never its paths we trace ; 

They who hear 'mid the world's disorder. 
Echoes only from out the place 

Filled with its mystic grace? 



IMPERFECTION. 

IMPERFECTION. 

nrmS is the kind of a day 
^ Bej^ond the will's surprise; 
When all sense of wonder dies 

In a heart-contentment still. 

When I reach the top of the hill, 
Past the haze where the sunshine lies, 
I may see you, love, with these eyes. 
E'en you who are miles awa3\ 

One feels in the warm, sweet air, 
Each hindering claim of sense 

Dissolve, as dissolves the life 

In the clover swathes brought low: 
Feels how human life doth grow. 

When parted by Death's keen knife 
From its rooted, earth pretense, 

Into something far more fair. 

Where your place is by my side 

Almost I feel you, sweet ! 
Almost I can make the miles 

Between us seem ended things ! 

How closely the spirit clings ; 
How vainly the flesh beguiles; 

On a day like this, complete. 
Almost one is satisfied ! 



78 HE. 



ASSURANCE. 

"\ ly'AIT heart ! It is coming yet ! 
^ ' What is thine own is waiting too ; 
Naught shall prevent its greeting you; 
Changing seasons or tardy years, 
Outer darkness or inward fears. 
Grod's time serving we need not fret 
The hour's retarding that's coming yet. 

Wait heart ! For the stars they wait; 

Every one that in turn appears 

Set for signs and seasons and days and 

years; 
Thy star among them that would fair worse 
Swifter grown than the universe. 
Thy star's ascendant comes soon or late, 
Learn thou to note it, and learning, wait 



SYMPATHY. 79 



SYMPATHY. 

V/'OU, and no one else will know 
^ What is meant by the song that the 
rest pass by ; 
You will hear through the words the cry 
That caused the rhyme and the song to grow. 
It will all be plain to you, onlj^ j-ou, 
Who have lived, as I have, the story 
through. 



I would to-day that you stood beside 

The desk where I write : if I held your 

hand 
Strong clasped in mine, I might understand 
And defy pain's power: but one can't deride 
Alone the shadow that flies before 
The sound of a friend's voice at the door 



80 HE. 



And yet, I sometimes think, as I hear 
Through my life's stillness the melodies 
That only sound in such hours as these, 
That the best beloved, the friend most dear, 
The nearest presence, perchance, would 

break 
The music's spell for the human's sake. 



friend ! the dearest my heart has known, 
If you stood beside, if I held your hand. 
We might fail together to understand 
The songs that gladden the heart alone ; 
For never yet was the music heard 
Through the heart's content, or the spoken 
word. 



SONG'S RECOMPENSE. 81 



SONG'S KECOxMPENSE. 

T GAVE to thee, Song! the light 
'^ That filled my eyes ere thou wast known : 
I gave to thee the bloom that shone 
Upon my face ; each swift delight 
That fills youth's hours I gave, for what? 
Thou answer'st not! 

I'll answer for thee, that when one 
Akin to what I was may read, 
He'll shun, perchance thy paths, that lead 
Through ways he dreams not of; he'll shun 
If he loves ease and sweet content, — 
Thy blandishment. 

I'll answer for thee. When one takes 
Upon his life thy seal, and turns 
From thy slow kiss that stings and burns 
Thereafter his heart's blood, that aches 
Through all its pulse thus dispossessed 
Of former rest, 



8:i HE. 

Why even then, so strong art thou, 
He'll feel thy chain a dearer thing 
Than his life proved without, and sing 
Thy praise, as I do sing even now, 
first and best — worth seeking long, 
matchless songj ! 



TWO YEARS. 83 



TWO YEARS. 

A YEAR ago, a year ago! 
"'*■ What may we now of its sweetness 

know? 
What, heart! in this gloaming hour 
Ma}' we recall of its vanished power? 
What is there left we may call our own 
Of the passionate strength of the year that's 

flown? 
The life is ended we fain would show; 
Hid in the shroud of the year ago. 

The year to come, the year to come ! 
Voice in the heart why art thou dumb? 
Having known wonderful things, what fear 
Strikes thee now of the coming year? 
In the twelvemonth's reign of the j^ear ago 
Is all compressed that thou art to know? 
Fate may keep one hope that need not 

succumb 
Hid in the womb of the year to come. 



84 SE 



TO HOPE. 

I AM resolved that thy deceit 
No more shall make my pulses beat ; 
That ne'er again my heart shall greet 

Thy shadowy seeming, 
With the old faith, that found thee sweet 
And left me, dreaming. 

Long, long ago, when youth and I 
Abode with Peace 'neath summer's sky, 
We first did hear thee, questioning why 

We found such pleasure. 
When 'cross the hedge in fields close by 

Was greater treasure. 

Didst not thou come to me and say 

' ' A little farther on, this day 

Being passed, thou'lt surely find the way 

More bright and pleasant"? 
I listened to thy specious lay, 

And lost the present! 



TO HOPE. 85 



Didst not thou say to me that when 

A few more years were passed, the men 

Who laughed at my wise theories then 

Would need their proving? 
Since my defeat, the world, I ken, 

Has still been moving. 



O vain and fair and fleeting sprite! 
Now that I walk without the light 
That once made all the future bright 

With scenes unreal, 
E'en Wisdom cannot stifle quite 

Thine old appeal. 



Een yet as I recall the days 

When thou didst spread a kindlj- haze 

O'er fears that darkened all Life's ways, 

restless spirit! 
Methinks some word of human praise 

Still due thv merit. 



86 HE. 



PerchaDce the visions that arise 

Beneath thy touch on mortal ej^es, 

Are gleams from out the grander skies, 

And fairer meadows, 
That each of th}^ sweet prophecies 

But dimly shadows. 



It may be that thy clearer sight, — 
Untouched by shadows of Death's night, 
Undimmed by tears, — beholds the light 

Of the great morrow. 
That waits to set Earth's failures right, 

And heal Earth's sorrow. 



helper of our weariness! 

Hope, deceiving but to bless! 

Still lend thy charm, till our distress. 

And wrath and scorning, 
Are lost in the great tenderness 

That fills God's morning. 



PROi'iya. 87 



PROVING. 
T F you knew 

^ How the sunrise and its setting 
Keep my fond heart from forgetting; 

How the moonlight and the dew 
Bring so clearly, — bought how dearly! 

Old delights once shared with you. 

If you heard 
Through the rising and the falling 
Of sweet liquid notes, Love calling, 

Though the messenger preferred 
By his blindness to thy kindness 

Comes to greet me as a bird. 



If you saw 
Shadows only, faint reflections 
Of fair things amid dejections 

Caused by separation's law. 
These would show you what I owe you. 

Strength and weakness of Love's flaw 



88 HE. 



DISSATISFIED. 

O SWEETHEART, dear heart, 
How they came one at a time ! 
After the love the roses, 

After the grapes the wine, 
After the power of possession, gifts. 
Separate yours nor mine. 

sweetheart, dear heart! 

The}^ brought them to you and to me : 
We have stood knee-deep in the roses. 

Nor heeded that such things be. 
We have heard the praise in men's voices 

Like the sounding of the sea. 

sweetheart, dear heart! 

What thought of j^ou just so far? 
Formed your dimensions fragile, 

Fashioned you what you are. 
Then granted lest you be joyous 

Sweets, one at a time that mar? 



ENTHR^-^LLMEyT. 89 



ENTHRALLMENT. 

T^HERE, it is passed! We came 
* Together unto this place; 
We reached this corner's turn 

And followed the woodland road. 

Now I breathe again with no load 
Of memoried thoughts that yearn. 

Here no hint of your vanished face 
May the roadway s course proclaim. 



Strange that the things we call 

Inanimate hold such power 
To darken and thwart the flight 

Of the soul in its onward sweep! 

Is there reason that one should weep 
In repassing a scene made bright 

Through the charm of a vanished hour 
That shall not again befall? 



90 HE 



I never shall love again 

The length of that winding way ; 
My soul is not mine till I pass 

Beyond its reflectiveness: 

Not mine while I acquiesce 
In its magic's power to surpass 

My strength of will and gainsay 
The present with its "has been." 



iNCoysTAyc}\ 91 



INCONSTANCY. 



OKISS me. kiss me, sweetheart! 
Kiss me again and again ; 
For the breath that I draw is torture 

Among my fellow men ; 
And the wine that I drink is bitter, 
And my bread is salt with tears, 
O kiss me, kiss me, sweetheart! 
To help me through the 3^ears, 

kiss me, kiss me, sweetheart! 

With 3'our head upon my breast, 
And I will forget life's promise. 

While I am so caressed ; 
And I will remember only, 

When we part from such embrace. 
The peace that follows passion. 

And the light upon 3'our face. 



92 HE. 



SONG. 

SHOW to me the way Love went, 
That I too may follow. 
Till again onr paths are blent, 
Vanished is sleep "s content 
From ray eyelids hollow. 
Show to me, ways that he, 
And I too may follow. 



You who love, tell me where 
Love from me is straying. 

In what fields of finer air. 

All unknown to heart's despair. 
Is my captor playing? 

You who love, teach and prove 
Where false Love is straying . 



ONCE UPON A TIME. 93 



ONCE UPON A TIME. 

ONCE upon a time — sweetheart. 
Can you tell 
If that time began or ended 

111, or well? 
Once in Time's most gracious kingdom 
We did dwell. 



Once upon a time! I falter 
In Life's race, 

Turn and stand a moment gaziuir 
Toward the place 

That this magic '-Once" encircled 
With its grace. 



Oh, the roses, pink and crimson 
That did grow 

Wild and sweet for our adorning 
Long ago! 

Now no flower reveals the beauty 
Tiiey did show. 



94 HE. 



Once upon a time the sunlight 

And the shade 
Swiftly sweeping o'er the hillsides 

Pictures made, 
Which were fairer that our footsteps 

Through them strayed. 



Ah, that Time still lives, nor alters 

At our moan! 
Though no second time may pilgrims 

Reach its zone; 
Still the paths are ne'er deserted 

We have known . 



Once upon a time! the vision 

Of its might 
Fades away into the darkness 

From my sight; 
Fades, and leaves more black the shadow 

Of the night. 



AFTER. 95 



AFTER. 

TT is no loss to be dead: 
•*• 'T is Fate's greatest boon to lie thus at 
rest, 
With this peace in the breast 
That shall ache no more at a hot word said 
By friend or foe, overhead. 



'T is a wonderful thing to lie 

In this state of quiet that is not vexed 

By what may come next: 
That is past, aye shut out with the sky 
By this earth heaped so high. 



\Yas it morn or eve when she came, 
She, for whose sake this quiet lies 
Forevermore on my closed eyes? 

I know not, they are the same. 

But I felt her tears through the grave - 

clods break. 
For Love's tardy sake. 



96 HE. 



And the quiet that I had known 

Grew yet more still, and I knew that hoar 

Death's most awful power: 
And, somewhere in the dark, a voice made 

moan 
For Love's empire flown. 



It is no loss to be dead : 

The loss is in living, before is found 

This place 'neath the ground 
AVhere the heart's long aching is comforted 
With this peace in its stead. 



LF. 97 



IF. 



WHAT would one do, I wonder, 
If the ship that was lost at sea 
Should come again to the harbor 

When hope had long ceased to be ? 
Should come with desire's fruition, 

With white sails all unfurled, 
Sailing grandly back some fair dawning 
From the other side of the world? 



What would one do, I wonder, 

If the flowers that our clasp did turn 
From the pride of the garden's splendor 

To the withered leaves which we mourn. 
Should revive to their olden fragrance, 

Should bloom through Time's dust as 
then ? 
What would one do, I wonder 

If the dead grace came again? 



98 HE. 



What could one do but wonder, 

Should one of the fall days fling 
For an instant the clouds asunder 

'Neath which we've been wandering? 
If the spring-time hope and endeavor, 

And the flash of the spring-time light 
Should illume for an instant our pathway, 

Ere the mists settle dow^n on the night? 



SELF SUFFICIENCY. 99 



SELF SUFFICIENCY. 

THERE is no one on this wide earth to 
know 
Thy sorrow save thyself. Each soul that 

lives 
Walks blinded by its own sad grief; nor 
gives 
More than a passing notice to thy woe. 
There is no friend, how dear soe'er, to go 
With thee into the silence that o'er grieves 
Life with its shade, the death-hour that 
retrieves 
All former anguishes that life can show. 

And, as that hour supreme is met, unshared 
By other souls, as each one singly knows 
Its power relentless, so methinks is dared 
By strongest souls each hour of pain that 
grows 
From this poor life : one stands or falls alone 
When all of help and comfort has been 
shown. 



100 HE. 



THWARTED. 

^ ^ T STOOD, friend, where you stand now; 

1 My foot on the goal. 
My hand touched the hope longed for; 

We stood soul to soul. 
1 trembled perhaps at completion, 

By rapture misled. 
I cannot tell how it happened, — 

Thwarted! " he said. 

< ' Love came to me also ; 

Touched me and drew 
All of my soul into being. 

Love's grace I knew. 
Love came and went swiftly. 

By darkness o'erspread, 
I cannot tell where, though I follow, — 

Thwarted! " he said. 



THWARTED. 101 

"Fame called to me softl}-; 

Named me her own. 
My heart rejoiced at her summons 

To the unknown. 
Fame turned in possession 

To bitterness shed 
Over my life's incompletion . — 

Thwarted!" he said. 



"Why you live satisfied, happy, 

I made to feel 
All aspiration but failure 

At last to reveal 
One hope I sought through emotion, 

Patience, or dread, 
I cannot tell while I stand here, — 

Thwarted!"' he said. 



103 HE 



IF I HAD KNOWN. 

IF I had known, dear, the worth of loving 
When you loved me, 
I had not scorned then your true heart's 
giving, 

And thus been free 
To wonder where 'mid the world's commotion 

Such love has flown. 
I had not turned from your life's devotion 
If I had known ! 

If I had known, dear, the world's caressing, 

Its bitter sting, 
I had not slighted your love's confessing 

For such a thing. 
I had esteemed then beyond all fashion 

That may be shown 
Of form or face, one such priceless passion ; 

If I had known! 



A SPED YEAR. 103 



A SPED YEAR. 



A YEAR sped; 

■'"*• Spring and summer and fall, 
With a winter's snows between 
The golden leaves and the green ; 
A year's sweet, proved, complete. 
And Gods love over all! 



Dixys in it, fair. 
Filled with color and bloom, 
Filled till they held no room 

For shadows of after care ; 
Swift they passed, all unfo recast 
By hint of future gloom. 



Nights in it, clear, 
What did the sunsets show? 
All peace that the heart ma}^ know, 

All joy that the heart holds dear, 
All life's best, revealed, confessed, 
Shone in their afterglow. 



104 HE. 

Nights and days! 
These that linger unsought 
Are thus named ; these enwrought 

Of weariness, dread, dela3's, 
These that the sped year brought! 

A year sped, 
What did it take away? 
Fall only? winter and spring, 
With the wondrous blossoming 

That o'erspread 
Earth from the summers sway? 

A sped year. 
Filled with rapture, and yet — 
What may be left in a life 
From its swift passing? Lo! strife; 

Unknown fear; 
Rejoicing, proved regret. 

Not always, heart. 
Shall the days smite thee with fear 
Of their repeating; the year 

Loved and sung was but part 
Of that which waits for thee, dear! 



A SPED YEAR. 105 



Waits all unmoved 
By clays that tremble and break 
Over the lives that o'ertake 

Joys, thus o'ertaken, disproved. 



Listen ! the crash, 
Made by Time's waves evermore 
Echoes here only. Their roar 

Stirs not the center; they dash 
All of their foam on the shore. 



Listen ; nor grieve, 
Lo, thou shaltcome to thy own! 
This the year's passing was shown 

Not that at last thou shouldst leave, 
Heart-sick, the hope thou hast known. 

Words! and they fail, 
But the trust fails not; we scan 
Life for the end of the plan 

Whose marred beginning we wail. 
Yet, the Power knows, that began. 



106 HE. 



Listen, — and wait, 



Trusting the Love that endures 
Over the years and their lures, 

Stronger than passion or fate, - 
This that our grieving obscures. 



COMMUNION. 107 



COMMUNION. 



IF, while I lived, I had heard one word 

■^ From any other soul, 

That meant, "I, too, havp seen and heard, 

I also seek j'our goal ;" 
It had not been so hard to stand 

From all mankind apart, 
If only one had grasped my hand 

And known my secret heart. 

If, while I lived, one voice had said, 

''I fully understand, 
I also walk the path you tread, 

I know the meaning grand 
Of the Soul's song that dulls the ear 

To any other sound," 
We two had brought God's Heaven near 

While treading earthly ground. 



108 HE. 



If, while I lived, one little part 

Of praise or sympathy 
That sounded over my dead heart 

Had been vouchsafed me, 
I had not been so glad to go 

To my appointed place. 
God knows — perchance 'twas better so- 

God knows in either case. 



INCOMPLETIOX. 109 



INCOMPLETION. 



IT matters not that I must leave 
The work undone ; I may not grieve. 
It must prove equal to the thought. 
It matters not ; some one will make 
The future effort for its sake. 

Through which completeness shall be 
wrought. 

It matters not when all is done, 
That hope is lost and death is won; 

Since through his touch the larger hope, 
Proved surety, waits to cheer and bless 
The hearts made weak by sore distress, 

With its enwidened horoscope . 



110 HE. 



It matters not, we sing, and turn 
From our weak loves to clear discern 

God's perfect love through their alloy. 
Since here or there must surely prove 
Revealment of His promised love ; 

What waiting shall our trust destroy? 

It matters not, O weary soul! 

That thou shouldst fail to reach the goal, 

With obstacles so hedged around. 
Beyond all chance the goal shines still. 
Through life and death, past good and ill,. 

The healing of its peace is found. 



g'gwtr^ij. 



A YEAR of singing ; the year is gray ; 
^^ The mists hang thickly along the 

way; 
The spring is tardy, its pulse is slow. 
What of the seasons we are to know ? 
The night creeps slowly toward the day. 



A year of singing; the spring-time thrills; 
And Nature quickens the vales and hills. 
The sun shines warm on the yielding 
earth, 

The green leaves welcome the year < 
rebirth. 

And hasten forward as Nature wills. 

113 



114 r ENVOY. 



A year of singing ; the year is green ; 
The birds fly lowly the boughs between; 
The birds fly high at the heaven's mark; — 
And which is wiser, the wren or lark? 
The glory sought, or the comfort seen? 

The singing falters, the drought is here ; 
The fields lie bare of the garnered year. 
The toil is ended and what remains 
To spur us onward toward further gains? 
Not 3-et may autumn and strength appear. 

A year of singing ; the orchards turn 
From green to golden, the red leaves burn. 
The subtle bloom of the ending charm 
Of summer rests on the field and farm. 
Between the frosts still the sunbeams 
yearn. 

The cold is gaining, the ice and frost 
Have set their seal on the treasures lost. 
The firelight draws us from field to hall ; * 
The winter treads on the track of fall. 
)V^hat of the seasons, their gain or cost? 



UENVOY. 115 

A year of singing, the year is white, 
The snows are spread o'er its past delight. 
The birds are still, and the sun is cold, 
silenced singing, the year is old! 
The day has vanished into the night. 



ended singing! lo, now as then 
God makes the music; man holds the pen. 
The notes are faulty ; the score runs right. 
The whole is written within His sight ; 
Whatever discord is caused by men. 



endless singing, perfect bliss! 
life eternal begun in this! 
O perfect Love, as the symbols fail 
The changelessness in our songs we hail 
Thy mighty purpose we may not miss. 



^isjCjeXIatxjeouB goiMUs. 



117 
AT PARTING. 



JWl Y songs, the time has come when ye 
^ ^ * ma} be 

No more as in days past my very own : 
Soon other tongues will sing your music's 

moan, 
And other lives amid their tears will see 
My own tears prisoned in your minstrelsy. 
My songs that through such weary days 

have grown 
Of this my life such part, shall ye being 

known 
To other singers longer comfort me? 



Within each one of you my heart has placed 
Some record of its rapture or its pain ; 
Some praise of much prized blessings that 

remain, 
Some wail for vanished joys no longer 

traced 
Upon Life's dial by Time's partial sun. 
Go forth — no longer mine — nor live for one. 



118 



My songs that came to cheer my own life's 

dearth, 
Gro forth to seek amid Life's ebb and flow 
Some resting place, where, as men come 

and go 
You may be found, if in you lives aught 

worth 
The finding. Through the myriad paths of 

earth 
Comes each one to his own, perchance e'en 

so 
Ye may return from wandering to and fro, 
And rest within the heart that gave you 

birth. 



It may be that I need you more than those 
To whom I send you forth. No other heart 
Beats with mine under the same weight, or 

knows 
The sorrow which, in forcing mine apart 
From lighter living, through the silence 

grows 
To be at last Joy's tender counterpart. 



119 



What do you know of Life? some souls 

may cry. 
You, sitting in your corner with your books, 
Safe, sheltered from the hard Worlds cruel 

looks ; 
Unheeding evil things that pass you by? 
What echo of Life's strain and agony 
Can penetrate your stillness? In what 

nooks 
Of crime and sin have you cast grappling- 

hooks 
Of faith to raise us from our misery? 



What claim have you upon us, unto whom 
You never came before with deed or word? 
W^hy do you seek to dissipate our gloom, 
Because, forsooth, some power your heart 

has stirred 
To utter in the quiet of j'our room 
Words of Life's song your ear cannot have 

heard? 



130 



When dail}' o'er your labor shines the sun, 
Or, if that shines not, 'tween 3'ou and rain 
Stretches the crystal shelter of the pane, 
What do you know of lives that have to 

run 
Unsheltered through the weather's stress, 

with none. 
To bid them pause and from their flight 

refrain, 
Which leads where at the last there doth 

remain 
The outer darkness, entered here upon? 



There is enough, they cry, to hear and see 
Of wretchedness, without the added sting 
Of lives like yours, that play at misery. 
And harp in perfumed stillness on the 

string 
That but records Life's real agony. 
Why should we cease our plaints to hear 

3'ou sing? 



121 



God knows my shelter did not prove so 

strong, 
But that Pain entering through it taught 

my heart 
To feel, though beating from the World 

apart. 
My kinship with its pulses. Right and 

wrong 
That ring alternate echoes in Life's song 
Your sound at times seems one. Aye, 

though I start 
At thought of fallen nature's bitter part, 
One heritage doth to us both belong. 

We seem the sport of circumstance and 

place ; 
And, that to-night I raise to God my eyes 
Unclouded with the sense of soul-disgrace 
That dims so many, is not that there lies 
More strength within my soul; or that 

Sin's space 
Is filled and farther entrance way denies. 



I'i3 



DIRECTION. 



HAT matters, after all is done and 



^ ^ said, 



This life's resulting; whether loss or gain, 
In these the things we strive so to attain? 
Whether the soul is starved or comforted? 
The question, friends, is of the path we 

tread ; 
Not of the place now reached, nor of the 

pain 
Of future strife, which must perforce 

remain 
Concealed, nor yet from whence the pathway 

led. 

There are so many words^ one can but 

choose 
At times unwisely 'mongst their multitude ; 
But when the soul's desire is all for good, 
Some good must linger with us, though we 

lose 
Through our o'er-reaching grasp, the things 

that make 
Life seem unworth its cost for their lost sake. 



123 



THE LOST POET. 

WHEN he is dead, and it is fairly known, 
That nevermore shall his evanished 
face 
Make fair or darken any earthly place, 
Why do we vainly seek to make our own 
Each action of his daily life, once shown 
To our unheeding vision? Strength and 

grace, 
The higher vision through the common- 
place, 
Came to him through soul-solitude alone. 



Each little hindering act and jarring sense 
In daily living, that annulled the fire 
Of genius in his breast; each weak pretense 
Of quenching at earth's springs his thirst's 

desire ; 
These being ended, let us, friends, from 

hence 
Worship the music's echo, not the lyre! 



134 



SONG. 



AH, yes, I sing! I sing to you, forsooth; 
As little caged birds shut in the dark 
To make them sing the tender strains we 

hark 
'Mid grosser sounds to hear. As these, in 

truth, 
Turning each impulse of their prisoned 

youth 
To living good, from the dead freedom 

stark 
Before them, while the passer-by may mark 
The rapture only, guessing not the ruth. 



They sing, all else denied them but the 

song,— 
The sound of rustling breeze and water's 

fall, 
The gleam of sunshine's radiance over all, 
Until the longing for these things makes 

strong 
The power that reaching them perchance 

had grown, 
Through much content, unfit to make them 

known. 



OLORD, n 
days I y 



125 
ASPIRATION. 

my God! through these my 



earn 



For that day's coming, whose strong light 

shall fall 
On my cloud-darkened life, and ending all 
My wanderings, which but sought at every 

turn 
For nearness to Thee, grant new power to 

learn 
The half-guessed truths I may not here 

forestall 
While hindered from Thee by the body's 

wall, 
Nor through the vesture of its flesh discern. 

I have not found among the words that 
sound 

Men's echoing doubts — nor one strong doubt 
dispel — 

Words strong or pure enough in which to 
tell 

The AVorld of these vain longings that re- 
bound 

Unto the desert-ways that close me round. 

Nor pierce the vail beyond which Thou dost 
dwell. 



126 

UNREST. 

T SAID, I will go hence and find a place 
* Where this despair that clouds my life, 

is not. 
And lo, the while I said it, came the 

thought 
That never yet in journeying through life's 

ways 
Had I beheld such place, or heard its praise 
Sung by the restless hearts that long have 

sought 
The goal where rest from unrest may be 

wrought 
By patient toiling, after many days. 



Throughout all Time the echoing cry re- 
sounds; 

From human hearts its wail sounds loud or 
low: 

"Ah, anywhere than here, these grievous 
wounds 

Were easier borne." Alas, that even so 

We dull the good that lives within our 
bounds ! 

Tis self, not place that bears our burden's 
woe. 



127 



REALIZATION. 

'T'HESE many years I sang m}^ songs alone. 
^ I sang them sof tlj^, in my heart, nor 

heard 
The faintest echo from my tenderest word. 
The world went by, unheeding joy or moan, 
Unheeding peace or longing in their tone ; 
And men's hearts throbbed not, mine alone 

was stirred 
By far faint music to the world unknown. 



And then, one day, one passing heard, and 

caught. 
With stronger breath, the music's charm ; 

and all 
The people listened to the louder call 
Through which the same sweet symphonies 

were taught. 
And I too listened, all my heart o'er- 

fraught 
As self -belief proved that which did befall. 



128 



LOST SYMPATHY. 

OBROTHER-souls, who erstwhile trod 
these ways 
That now I wander in ; souls that found 
Such sense of isolation in the round 
Of things external that make up the days ; 
O souls, that strove when there was none to 

praise 
The strife, till it, completed, did redound 
Loud credit, — late found balm, brought to 

a wound 
Grown hard o'er its own pain through such 

delays : 



souls, who hungered oft for one to reach 
And know your thought, e'en as you 

understood 
Its awful sacredness, which yet your speech 
Echoed, although it might not as you 

would, — 
If it might only be that one could turn 
Such grieving into help, nor longer yearn ! 



129 



INVOCATION. 

/^ YE, who hear the voices of the night, 

^-^ Arise with me and tell what je do 

hear, 

With other organs than the natural ear! 

Arise, and keep your earthly vesture bright 

From soil of daily use, and turn your sight 

From worldly pomps unto the dayspring 

clear. 
O poets, sing! ye need no longer fear 
Aught save the stifling of the new songs 
might. 



0, ye who see the coming glory through 
The veil of matter clinging closely round 
The spirit's insight into things profound, 

Sing, though your heart-strings break in 
striving; sing 

The love of God to men! Through sufferino-. 
The voicing of the highest love is founr:. 



130 INVOCATION. 



There is no sound to utter unto men 

The wondrous rapture of Love's strange 
new word; 
That may be writ in silence only, when 

God's hand doth touch our foreheads — 
only heard 
By others in like ecstasy, and then, 

That we mistake not, lo a word is found, 
kinsmen. Poet is the nearest sound! 

Fear not great Love's appointment; strive 



But we are sinful men and women. Lord. 
We love the shadow, trust, fail, love again 
Thy fallen image in our fellow men. 
And when Thj^ love into our hearts is 

poured, 
We weep at our unworthiness to be 
Chosen from out mankind to tell of Thee. 



131 

ONCE IN A WHILE. 

/^NCE in a while, the days between! 
^^ Somebody comes w4th a word to sa}^ ; 
Some moment's space in the hurried day. 
We who are weary are comforted 
For the long dull days when no word is 

said, 
Once in a while, the days between! 



Once in a while, the years between! 
Love comes unto the hearts that j^earn; 
Late or earl}^, to each in turn ; 
Shining through many eyes unto one; 
To another, once only, and love is done. 
Once in a while, the years between! 



Once in a while, 0, the centuries 

Of sin and struggle, waste that dies ! 

Ere, slowly, surely, the human sees 

Love's true fulfillment in sacrifice. 

x\f ter long whiles ! in each soul forlorn, 

As to the nations the Christ is born. 



132 



THE SOUTH-WEST WIND. 



THE south-west wind was blowing, 
And lovely was the day, 
The sunlight brightly glowing, 

When Jamie went away. 
There was no means of knowing ; 

Earth kept glad holiday ; 
The south-west wind was blowing. 
And our twa hearts were gay. 



The south-west wind was blowing. 

The day they brought him back 
But o'er the sky so glowing 

Was spread the tempest's wrack. 
Fate had no means of showing 

The coming tempest's track. 
The south-west wind was blowing, 

The day they brought him back. 



THE SOUTH-WEST WIND, 133 



cruel wind and faithless 

I loathe your gentle breath! 

Why did you leave me scathless, 

And waft my love to death? 

1 would all men were knowing 

As I your cheating ways ! 
When southwest winds are blowing 
Then most I loathe the days. 



When the winds, roused from slumber, 

Shrill loudly, or sing low, 
One voice among their number 

My fearful heart doth know. 
I see blue ripples flowing, 

I see the waves grown gray, 
When southwest winds are blowing 

And lovely is the da}^ 



134 



AFTER THE STORM. 

OUT of the sky the storm has fled, 
With rattle and crash of thunder : 
To the welcome sun tarns each flow'ret's 

head, 
Still bending the rain drops under. 



Forth from the shelter which welcome 

proved 
Through hours of the storm's enduring. 
Again to the woodland haunts beloved, 
I follow the path alluring. 



And lo! where the wood and the meadow 

meet, 
Just the skirting-ground of either, 
A little brown nest lies at my feet. 
By the wind's force drifted hither. 



.■IFTER TUB .-^nORM. I35 



Over my head two wild birds small, 
Persist in a vain endeavor 
To awaken life, by their loving call, 
In their nestlings, hushed forever. 



A little way from the empty nest 
Is the cause of the old birds' sorrow. 
Though the skies may clear, still their woi 

birds rest 
Beyond an awak'ning morrow. 



Ah, other summers will come and go, 
When is ended this summer's grieving: 
And again will the birds fly to and fro, 
With hope their new nest enweaving. 



Yet here at my feet, while the earth is 

thrilled 
With joy at the storm-cloud's flying, 
Here, with its music forever stilled, 
This summer's nest is Ivino-. 



in 



WINTER WHEAT. 



TN the midst of the field's gmj stubble 

^ Patches of green appear. 

"Tis the winter wheat, with its promise 

sweet 
Of a blessing that waits to cheer, 
With its crowning bloom, after days of 

gloom. 
The brow of the coming year. 



Through the stretch of life's gra}^ surround- 
ings 

Flit glimpses of brightness too ; 

Like hint or promise of better things 

To come in life's yet unnumbered springs. 

When the winter days are through ; 

When the hopes that lie 'neath the winter's 
sky. 

Shall unfold to their harvest true. 



137 



TOWN OR COUNTRY. 



"\1 /"HEN the rain comes down, 
' ' Out of a sky of leaden hue and 
dreary ; 
When the small birds, grown 
So suddenly of their wet kingdom weary, 
Nestle 'mid dripping leaves, with rueful air; 
The town seems fair. 



When all the fields 

Of waving corn and grain are blurred to- 
gether ; 

When all the prospect that fair Nature 
yields 

Looks marred and dismal in the rainy 
weather , 

With all our soul's might, as the rain comes 
down. 

We long for town. 



138 TOWN OR COUNTRY. 



But, when the night 

Between us and the stars hangs its wet 

curtain, 
The crickets voice of might 
Assures us still in accents clear and certain, 
That "next week"* comes some good to 

surely cheer 
Life there or here. 



*"'Creek creek, creekity creek 
Something's sure to happen next we^k. 



139 



RP.FLECTION. 



r^OWN in the water below my feet 
*-^ There lies reflected an image sweet 

Of the world in the Maj^-day weather, 
The old, old world, in the garments new 
Of her latest spring ; and I pause to view 
The pictured grace in the mirror blue. 

Of the old and the new tosjether. 



Over the edge of the banks are seen 

Low fields far-stretching, whose vivid green 

In the spring-time light shines onl}': 
While fruit-trees yield to each breeze that 

springs 
The wondrous scent of their blossomings. 
And from topmost branches a bird's song 
rings 
To gladden the watcher lonely. 



140 REFLECTION. 

Still covers the landscape o'er, the spell 
That God created when all was well 

In the grand old garden story; 
Before came sorrow and care and dread, 
'Neath whose advancing the secret fled. 
Ah! dear first mother, the ages dead 

Have dulled not that secret's glory. 

I wonder about it, sitting here, 
The strength that bore thus from year to 
year 

The pain of the keen regretting; 
As over the lives of the children small 
The curse descended, and slowly all 
The sorrows that unto the race did fall 

Kept your tortured heart from forgetting. 

0, shoulders slender to bear the weight 
Of a world's madness and scorn and hate. 

Nor sink 'neath so sore a burden! 
0, heart courageous to still beat on 
After the faith in your strength was gone! 
0, weary waiting before Life won 

From Death's touch the longed for guer- 
don! 



REFLECTION. 141 



We are so used to it, we have borne 
Through such long ages the life forlorn, 

Decreed to us through your sinning, 
That this j^our courage to us appears 
A thing unknown in the later years, 
Not found, alas! in the hemispheres; 

New-found since your world's beginnino^. 



As, slowly rising, I turn my face 
Toward the home pathway, the subtle 
grace 
Of the scene mocks my retreating. 
Ah, still there rests upon earth and air 
The peace perfected, we may not share, 
Till the lips of the silence unsealed declare 
Its charm through some sweet, strange 
greeting! 



142 

BITTER-SWEET. 

HOW did you store and make so real 
The fleeting flame of the sunset's hue? 
Where did you gain what you now reveal 

Of vanished glories the summer through? 
When did you prison the color fleet? 
Tell me your secret, Bitter-Sweet! 



When days were long, o'er the summer 
flowers 

Your hard green berries unnoticed swung ; 
And no result from the soft, sweet hours 

Lingered your clustering leaves among. 
Ah, frost was needed and cold and sleet, 
For your completement, my Bitter-Sweet ! 



Who first named you had doubtless tasted 
The bitterness of the summer's flight; 

Had known the sweets of the season wasted, 
Had felt the fear of the winter's blight; 

And through his kinship to you did greet 

And name your being, Bitter-Sweet ! 



BITTER-SWEET. 143 

Sweet and Bitter you bind together 

Known and unknown within your sphere ; 

The vanished sweet of the summer weather; 
The sharp'ning chill of the closing year; 

In your scarlet globes, lo, these forces 
meet, 

That make you as life to us, Bitter-Sweet! 



Christmas comes but once through the 
waning 
Of the year's seasons, or swift, or slow. 
Lo, through your sweet is our old com- 
plaining 
Changed to hope as the seasons grow! 
With added courage our pulses beat, 
For days untried to prove bitter, sweet. 



144 



QUESTION AND ANSWER. 

iiHTELL me why all through the living 
^ Of the troublous life you have led, 
There has shown on your face, through its 
grieving, 
Such courageous endurance," she said. 
' ' Tell me, woman, whose sorrows 

Far outnumber your hopes, why the fear 
Of the coming relentless tomorrows 

Chills 3'ounot?" ^' Just the words, ' I am 
here.' " 



' ' Can you hear, then, this echo resounding 

Through the ages of tumult and sin? 
Through the passionate sorrow surrounding 

Your life, can its comfort creep in? 
heart, that beats on when the beauty 

Of your life is turned pallid and drear, 
What upholds your adherence to duty?" 

Low she whispered the words, " I am 
here." 



QUESTION AND ANSWER. 145 



* ' Is there then in the world not one lover 

One friend, one true heart unto whom 
You could turn till the storm-cloud is over, 

That now shadows your life with its 
gloom? 
Is the wide earth so faint in its aiding 

That thy hurt spirit turns for its cheer 
To past ages, and thus retrograding 

Cheats itself with the words, ' I am 
here?' " 



' ' heart that thus questions so keenly 

The faith that for ages has stood 
As a rock, 'mid life's surges that vainly 

Pour upon it their desolate flood, 
The one thing that is real 'mid the fleeting 

Of life's changeable shades that appear 
But to vanish, is this, God's own greetingv 

' To the end of the world, I am here.' " 



146 



SIC TRANSIT GLORIA MUNDI. 

AT mom it stood within its walls 
Of hard-baked clay, a sightly thing; 
At eve within the palace halls 
Its direful fate I sadly sing. 
Only the day before 'twas bought, 
A little Fuchsia in a pot. 



Out on the pride ! that soon did raise 
The Fuchsia from its resting place, 

And unto every passing gaze 

Displayed its beauty and its grace . 

'Twas lifted early to the ledge 

Of rock that guards the palace edge. 



The Fuchsia is a modest flower; 

It hung its head and blushed and sighed 
For the past peaceful morning hour 

When first it stood the steps beside. 
A vague presentiment did fill 

Each leaf with dread of coming ill. 



SIC TRANSIT GLORIA MUNDI. 147 

At evening's close a cloud did rise 
In the far east and quickly spread ; 

And in the dark and sultry skies 
Each careful mind the lesson read 

Of danger, from the gathering wrath, 
To all within the tempest's path. 



But while we rushed, with eager pace, 
The flower to save — alas, alas! 

With simple, unaffected grace. 
Its former station on the grass 

It reassumed, by turning round 

Some three times ere it reached the 
ground. 



Methought I heard its voice, as low 
Upon the ground it lay forlorn ; 

* ' My mournful fall but serves to show 
The fate of all too early borne 

From peaceful homes to meet awhile — 
Then faint 'neath — Fortune's fickle smile. 



148 SIC TRANSIT GLORIA MUNDJ. 



' * country roads, beside whose track 
Unharmed the wild sweet clover sways, 

Through sunshine warm or tempest's wrack^ 
Contented through the summer days, 

Your humble voices could relate 
The moral in my early fate!" 



I listened, but it spoke no more, 
The rain beat on its bruised head 

The flower which but the day before 
Cheered every heart, alas! was dead. 

And, thinking on the clover weed, 
I mourn the Fuchsia's fate indeed. 



149 

HOME GREETING. 



O, mine b}'' every right the soul 

Of man may claim from God! and won 

By granting to each setting sun 
Some part of life's allotted whole . 

Home, looked forward to for years, 
When nights were long and days too full 

Of toil and pain and burning tears 
For one to reach the Beautiful! 

O vision! that the silent night 
So often brought and took away ; 

Now realized within my sight, 
And strong to bear the light of day. 

Among thy lovers live but few 
Who longed as I to reach thy rest; 

Thy sacredness seems ever new 
To this world-weary, tired breast. 

O Home! place divine! whose walls 
Shut out the sound of wordly strife ; 

breathing space! wherein the life 
Gains strength to meet World's grief, that 
falls 

More lightly at thy threshold sweet 
Than elsewhere on the land or sea; 
The weary waiting, it may be. 

But makes possession's sense complete. 



150 



DREAMS. 

IN my dreams, the tenderness 
Of dead friendship charms again ; 
All its olden power to bless, 
Still is felt in each caress, — 
Shadow-pictured, now as then. 



In my dreams the kisses are, 

Which throughout the daylight's space,. 
Wait from daily cares afar; 
Wait, till freed from commonplace 

To them turns the tired face. 



In my dreams, Death's victory 

Is annulled; and, through the gloom 

Of the night, returns to me 

One dear Presence to illume 

Yet again Life's tarnished bloom. 



isr 



TO MY ROOM. 

r\ COMRADE mine! the shadowy hour 
^-^ that o'er us, 

These many years, 
Has made its presence felt, at last before us 

In form appears ; 
We greet, nor longer dread the ended power 

Of parting hour. 



Through each vicissitude of life, I've found 
thee 

Most true and tried; 
When the great world was ringing false 
around me, 

I've sought to hide 
My doubting heart where thy sweet peace - 
fulness 

Did always bless. 



152 TO MY ROOM. 

Yet I have left thee in pursuit of pleasure, 

Where pride and joy 
Filled utterly the glad hour's rapturous 
measure ; 

Where no alloy 
Dimmed pleasure's chain, except the haunt- 
ing thought, 

Thou must be sought. 



Wilt thou remember, as fresh faces fill thee 

And life goes on, 
Mid the new human griefs and joys that 
thrill thee. 

The friend that's gone? 
And will thy memoried air disturb the rest 

Of some new guest? 

I shall remember in the strange new places 

Where I may dwell, 
Pursuing the old aims amid new faces; 

Nor let the spell 
Of coming years make those I've spent 
with thee 

Less dear to me. 



TO MY ROOM. 153 



Through youth's best years, dear room, 
we've shared together 
All life can hold 
Of storm and sunshine, warm and wintry 
weather. 

The seasons rolled 

Past us and came again, nor discord found 

In all their round. 



Farewell! thine air dismantled seems to 
chide me 

As I depart. 
Whatever may in coming years betide thee, 

Grant to each heart 
That seeks thine aid, the help and sym- 
pathy 

Thou gavest me. 



154 

CORAM NOBIS. 

'T^HERE is no grief and no regret 
-* In that which lies before; 
No weariness the heart to fret, 

No losses to deplore; 
We bring our burdens of the past, 

And leave them at the door. 



O mystic door, that swings between 
The known and the untried! 

Who passes through this arch serene 
Finds but one right denied; 

The shadow of his former self 
No more may walk beside. 



Before us shines the dawning clear. 
Behind us lies the night. 

The Future brightens as we near 
To make our own its might; 

Freedom, self- chosen, evermore 
Has he who finds its light. 



155^ 



UNCOMFORTED. 

T T never can seem again 

* A.S it used to long ago, 

The years between now and then 

Have altered the world's face so; 
And the power to bless in the new seems, 
less 

Than the old, as the seasons grow. 



It never can seem again 

Be the journey short or long. 
As it seemed in youth's spring-time, when 

The hope in the heart was strong; 
Ere its courage blent in the discontent 

Of the world's great chorus-song. 



156 UNCOMFO RTED. 



It never again can seem 

As it used to when the light 
Of the home-lamp's cheering gleam 

Streamed out on the winter night ; 
When the heart grew warm through the 
wildest storm, 

At sight of its lustre bright. 



Look up — Soul! o'er thy sighing 
Dawns a hint of that morning, when 

Thou shalt cease thy querulous crying 
'' It never can seem as then " ! 

Ah its wondrous grace shall all loss efface 
When the time shall be one again! 



157 



RECEIPT FOR POETRY. 

/^ NE half an ounce of common sense, 

^-^ One ounce of world's experience, 

One pound belief in other men, 

And one of being duped again. 

Two pounds of power to dream, the while 

The waking brain takes note of time. 

I grant ye, friends, the right to smile ; 

This quaint receipt is solely mine. 

Mix these in crucible whose form 

Was forged in fires of deathless Love. 

Be sure and keep the mixture warm ; 

If cooled it hardens from above, 

Becomes o'erlaid with scum of pain, 

And renders bitter all below, 

And hence the whole receipt is vain. 

One taint of self, it must not show ; 

But only Love's resistless might. 

And only Love's unceasing grace. 

This, followed surely, brings to light 

True poetry in every case. 



158 



HER ANSWER. 

T HAVE no time, she said, 
* To marry you. 

Youth's sunshine is too sweet, too dear, 
To overcloud with duties drear 
That housewives do ! 



I have no heart, she said, 

To say farewell 
To freedom sweet, that strayed with me 
Through journeys far, whose ecstasy 

No tongue can tell! 



I have no power, she said, 

To put away 
From clamoring heart the things that filj 
Its need, that I may do your will, 

From day to day. 



HER ANSWER. 159 



I have no strength, she said, 

To face the years, 
Weighed down with other's weal or woe ; 
My own soul's weight doth heavier grow 

As each appears! 



You cannot think, she said, 

Because your heart 
Beats faster at my step, and each 
Swift pulse unto m}^ own doth reach, 

Why we should part. 



This may not be, she said. 

Yet, at your call, 
My reasons wise had worthless proved, 
If, as I have not, I had loved 

You more than all ! 



160 



IMMUTABILITAS. 

"He sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust." 

HE sends the rain 
Alike upon the just, and those 
Made otherwise by cruel blows. 
Whom loss or pain 

Have rendered hard or weak. On all 
His rain-drops fall. 



He sends the rain 

Upon the just and the unjust, 

And some are strengthened and their trust 

Doth still remain. 

Some rise refreshed to do His will, 

And some lie still. 



IMML'TABILITAS. 161 

The grass lifts up 

Its spears, made strong by drops that beat 

The life out of the fragile, sweet, 

Spring flower's cup. 

And strong and weak are raised, or slain 

By the same rain. 

The grass shall live 

Through summer days, that beasts mn}' 

know 
Its garnered sweet, when storm-winds blow, 
And winters grieve. 
The useful thinojs are strono- to l^ear 
The rain-drops' care. 

But flowers, why earth 

Is covered with these useless things. 

These olT'rings that the earth-life brings 

Our joy or dearth ! 

Soon other flowers will fill the place 

Of such dead grace. 



162 



CHRISTMAS-ROSES. 

ONCE a year do the roses blow, 
June-time roses so fair and fleet. 
This is the time of the frost and snow, 
This the season of cold and sleet, 
But we remember through Christmas cheer 
The fragrant bloom of the earlj^ year. 



Once a year do the roses blow, 
Christmas-roses, but oncea3'ear; 
Which flowers are fairer we do not know, 
Or which are found to our lives more dear 
The roses lost with the summer skies, 
Or the Christmas-roses to-day we prize. 



CHRISTMAS-ROSES. 163 



This we know through the summer daj^s, 
This we know while the sleigh-bells chime, 
The Love eternal that placed our ways 
In changing seasons and fleeting time, 
Will surely render, each in its place, 
The Christmas gladness, the June-time 
grace. 

And so, thus knowing, we let them go. 
The things that gladden, the things that 

cheer. 
We may not keep, e'en while loving so. 
Each gracious season throughout the year ; 
We may not lose as the seasons pall. 
The Love unchanging that granteth all. 



164 



LIFa^'S LESSON. 

NOW I would know how to love you; 
If you should come again, 
From out the years and the distance 

That keep you safe since then. 
I would not fret you nor grieve you, 

As I did once long ago ; 
I did not know then, my darling, 
my love, I did not know ! 

But the years I know, and the patience 

That comes to the life from each ; 
The loss in the worldly living. 

Of the tender, daily speech ; 
The silence in thronged assemblies. 

The leaden heart below 
The bravest smile, my darling. 

My lost love, these I know! 



165 



THE CALIFORNIA CRISIS. 
Spring, 1888. 

TOWA? 5^es sir, that's the state 
-^ Most of us hails from here ; 
Downright good folks, I calkelate. 

To tie to through the year. 
I'm glad to know you anyhow, 

Though you don't mean to stay 
More'n two days ; that, I allow, 

'S about the tourist's wa}'. 

This funeral to-day, 

Made all on"s, you might s^y, 
Just bluer than a whetstun. 

We all loved Johnson ; fact I knew 

Him better n the rest. 
We come from the same town, and grew 

Up longside. I come west 
Ten years before him, stopping some 

To see w^hat luck would do ; 



166 THE CALIFORNIA CRISIS. 

Farmed in Nebraska, then I come 

All Colorado through. 

The restlessness just grew ; 

Some times, sir, that I knew 
Seemed bluer than a whetstun. . 

Settled here finely in this spot. 

Four years ago, and done 
The best I could to buy a lot, 

To stow the folks upon. 
I had time on't and put my all. 

Three hundred dollars in. 
Thinking with any chance at all 

The rest on't I would win. 

It seems now like a sin, 

The way that things did spin; 
Now its bluer than a whetstun. 

In just six months, sir, it was found 

My lot was needed more 
For business property; the ground 

I got six prices for. 
And while the stores were buildin' there. 

The lot and contract too 



THE CALIFORNIA CRISIS. 167 

Changed hands three times, sir, I declare 

I'm not a stuffin' you . 

Good Lord, the wa}^ it grew! 

The boom that we've lived through 
Left us bluer than a whetstun. 

You see, sir, Johnson come too late. 

Though that we didn't know; 
It takes a boom to educate, 

Men's senses seem so slow. 
We thought that things would keep along 

To all eternity. 
Town lots from ranches bouorht for a son^ • 

We got slipped up, you see. 

I'm sure, though, you'll agree, 

Mournin' for him with me. 
All on's bluer than a whetstun. 

The wise ones saw the edges thin 

Some months ago, when he 
First struck here and they took him in. 

I 'clare to God, sir — we 
Were not all sharpers — I was green 

As any tenderfoot 



168 THE CALIFORNIA CRISIS. 



That crossed the Rockies; if I'd seen 

This break think I'd a put 

His all and mine afloat 

In sucli a leak}^ boat, 
And him bluer than a wlietstun? 

I heard a woman sent him first 

To the Pacific slope. 
He aint the first one, nor the worst; 

Most men get through with hope 
In one shape or another 'fore 

Thej try the climate's spell. 
There's some things, sir, it can't restore; 

'Twas so with Johnson. Well, 

He'd lived, sir, through his hell, — 

Finished, as dead he fell 
Being bluer than a whetstun! 

He had a brother, I've not seen 

Nigh on to twenty year. 
He was right fond of, but between 

Them something come, — 'twas queer. 
I've fancied sometimes it might be 

This same orhl. It's too bad 



THE CALIFORNIA CRISIS. 169 



All round! What's that you said to me? 
"Silence!" or you'll "go mad. " 
Your brother surely had 
Some cause, then, to be glad; 

I^ot bluer than a whets tun. 



170 



LIMITATION. 

J SPOKE to-day through the telephone ; 
^ Sent my voice miles away to a friend. 
Wonderful link from the purpose shown 
To the distant ear at the circuit's end! 
Dumb was the wire in the outer air, 
Naught could the passersby hear or see 
Of the thought of love that was traveling 

there, 
Between the heart of my friend and me . 

Sound is that we are tuned to hear, 

Air vibrations that strike the sense ; 

In one second the human ear 

May forty thousand experience . 

But to the millions, perchance, that break 

Above, around us, our ears are numb. 

And from lesser waves that do not o'ertake 

Our second's limit, no sound may come. 



LIMITATION. 171 



There is a man 'mid the surging crowd, 
Smiled at, wondered at, all unknown; 
"Poet" called, when the world laughs loud 
At the words he hears o'er God's telephone. 
He is keyed to vibrations beyond the ear ; 
There are such we know in our planisphere. 
There are sounds above, there are sounds 

below 
The plane where we walk, that we may not 

know ; 
Well, these are the sounds that the poets 

hear! 

There are vibrations, we hear it said. 
The ether makes for each color seen ; 
Four hundred millions, the light shines 

red. 
Increasing waves show the yellow, green, 
More and more form the ideal blue. 
Faster and faster, increasing yet, 
The scale ascending in order true 
Finds culmination in violet. 



172 LIMITATION 



And, where the light falls on the eye, 
So many waves ere the eye may see, 
Think of the things we may not descry, 
Which move among us so mightily! 
Perohance the terrors our souls that shake 
Are living shapes in the world unseen; 
The love that binds and the hates that ache 
May use us idly, poor toys that break! 
Or crush us, unknowing, themselves be- 
tween 



173 



CONTENTMENT. 

I KNOW that these things are : 
The restless sea, 
The strong white breakers, and the mount- 
ing foam, 
(Like joy in sailors' hearts at nearing home,) 
The inspiration of the morning star, 
The moonlit waves, the glory of the sun 
That gilds the western sky when day is 
done . 

I know that these things are: 

The deep blue sky, 

Undimmed by smoke and dust and toil of 

men. 
With whom I strive for life. I know this 

when 
Above my head the brazen heavens scar 
Sweet summer's meaning in the parching 

town. 
And hope and thought and God are beaten 

down. 



174 CONTENTMENT. 



I know that these things are: 

— Though not for me, — 

The breezes laden with the sweet strong 

scent 
The early summer brings; the deep content 
Of dumb things grazing in green fields afar ; 
The song of birds; the peace on earth and 

sky, 
That changes not for creatures such as I. 

I know that these things are : 

And are for me, 

Who know them (as in heaven I too am 

known), 
And so I bide in peace, far from my own. 
Yet not in truth am I so very fur. 
What matters one's abiding, when the soul 
Contains within itself earth's wondrous 

whole? 



175 



GRANDMOTHER'S SINGING. 

T ? VE been thinking to-night of a story ; 
* Not romantic indeed, scarcely strong 
Enough at the best for much glory 

To follow its ut' ranee in song ; 
Yet I doubt not that odes laudatory 

Have been writ where less praise should 
belong. 

My thought was of a little old lady, 
One without whom I might not in this 

Most peculiar of worlds, as a baby, 

Have been brought to find things so 
amiss. 

But this question of Fate's one that may be 
'T will take sev'ral more worlds to dismiss. 



176 GRANDMOTHER'S SINGING. 



She lived long years ago, when a woman 
Had more duties than now to fulfill . 

When the questions that trouble the human 
In this later-day culture were still. 

And she married when young, quite the 
true plan 
To adopt even now, if one will. 

It may be that a smile will come stealing 
O'er your face when I tell you she had 

Thirteen children, with whom in her dealing 
She lived ever as common sense bade : 

And they rose up and blessed her, revealing, 
Through their lives, truths the proverbs 
have clad. 

Now it happened five times the Lord 
brought her 
Back from laying her dear ones at rest ; 
And again to the living who sought her 

Was her loving sweet ministry blest. 
Ah, in thinking of this, her granddaughter 
Writes through tears, of the strength she 
possessed ! 



QRA^'DMOTHER'S SINGING. 177 



Dear heart! all through Life's toil and its 
pleasures, 
All through losses and grieving and pain, 
Still there rang in her soul the sweet 
measures 
Of the music we strive so in vain 
To express. Few our words for its treasures, 
Few the souls who expression attain. 



Yet, 'mid sweeping and mending and 
baking. 
Amid efforts unpraised and unknown. 
Did she lighten each toil's undertaking 
With quaint phrases and rhj^mes of her 
own; 
Till the work was made blest through the 
breaking 
Of its chains by the courage thus shown. 



178 ORANDMOTHER'S SINGING. 



Fourteen years have gone by since her 
singing 
Has been ended on earth ! Fourteen years ! 
And to those whom she left, lo, their 
bringing 
Has been bitterness often and tears ! 
But we know that she dwells 'mid the 
ringing 
Of the songs made by stars in their 
spheres ; 



Where the music continues, unbroken 
By the noise of the days and their care ; 

Where its harmonies only are spoken; 
Where the seasons are ended; and where 

The rest that remaineth is token, 

Evermore, that God's presence is there. 



179 



APPREHENSION. 



A SHADOW turned, a shadow spake 
''*■ Some words my soul unto ; 
And all my heart did fear and quake 

Its strongest pulsing through. 
For who can tell what a thing like that 

Ma}^ further say, or do ? 

For years I had taught my doubting heart 
No trust in this shade to place. 

For years I had striven to heal the smart 
Left by knowledge of its grace. 

For years I had journey' d far — at last 
To meet it face to face. 

I knew that duty was hard and cold ; 

That the shadow was false and sweet ; 
But my heart was numb and the year was 
old. 

With its promise incomplete; 
And so I stood in the dawning gray 

And heard the shadow speak. 



180 APPREHENSION. 

*' You have not known me," said the shade, 
" To thus feel fear and dread. 

My own behold me undismayed, 
A passing gloiy shed 

On mortal life. Behold my face, 
Lo, I am Love! " it said. 

It drew the hood from off its face, 
And turned its glance on me . — 

I thank God for this sight of grace, 
Daily on bended knee. 

That once great Love revealed himself. 
That I was there, to see ! 

And now between me and the sun 

No shadow dims the way. 
I know no fear as life goes on ; 

No hopes my heart betray, 
If 1 had known the shade was Love, 

I were his own, to-day. 



181 



UNAIDED, 



T^HERE is no one to hear the song, I said, 
-■■ And thenceforth stilled the echo in 
my breast. 
Then all earth's outer sounds were hushed 
to rest, 
x\nd I did walk as one uncomforted. 



There is no one to see the light, I cried, 
The strange white light that blinds me as 1 

see, 
The vision to my fellows is denied. 

There is no one to hear or see with me! 

O fool, the voice that cries is not thine own 
That thou shouldst still it at thy will's 
behest! 
Utter what thou dost hear, nor make thy 
moan 
At others' heedlessness. Do thou thy 
best. 



182 UNAIDED. 

If the world heard and answered thee, what 
then? 
What thank have ye? The sinners do 
the same. 
Give forth thy thought, if to unheeding 
men, 
Ye had example if Christ came again . 



183 



THE EQUESTRIAN PARTY. 

OR THE MISADVENTURES OF THE LATER-DAY 

GILPINS. 

Five kindred spirits once resolved 

Upon a ride to go: 
The hour was set at five o'clock, 

Ere yet the sun was low. 

They all agreed 'twas best they should 

Meet at some central spot; 
The Gilpins' was the house they chose 

As being easiest sought. 

The evening came, the clouds were drear, 

And many thoughts were sent 
From five most anxious minds to know 

What all the others meant. 

At last Miss G-. — saw at the door 

Her brother's manly form. 
And of the legal mind enquired 

His thoughts about a storm. 



184 THE EQUESTRIAN PARTY. 



On other evenings, when the clouds 

Were full as dread and drear, 
And he intended forth to ride , 

He saw no cause for fear. 

But when he saw his sisters dear 

Arrayed in riding trim, 
He said no soul would ride that night, — 

Or so it seemed to him. 

But very soon the door-bell sent 

Fresh courage to each heart, 
A page appeared and said, ' ' Now, girls, 

All's ready for the start." 

So these two maidens sallied forth. 

Resplendent to the view. 
To seek the others who would start 

From Ellis avenue . 

But when they reached the house they 
heard 

What caused them much dismay ; 
The other three were seeking them, 

But b}' another way . 



THE EQUESTRIAN PARTY. 185 



So they returned, right hasLily, 

Unto the Grilpins' door, 
Only to find the other three 

Had started back once more . 

Again their weary steeds they turned, 

And the familiar way 
Was traveled once again by them. 

All on the self- same day. 

The avenue again was reached, 

And nothing was espied. 
With heavy hearts they backward turned 

Upon their lonely ride. 

They galloped up, they galloped down, 

And argued earnestly 
Upon the proper course to take. 

But not a friend did see. 

At last, with wisdom which their years 

Scarce led one to expect. 
They said no more they'd try to meet. 

Nor on their woes reflect. 



186 THE EQUESTRIAN PARTY. 



And, so thej^ hied them down the street 

To Drexel Boulevard, 
And, with each other satisfied, 

Their joy no more was marred. 

When the sweet scenery of the park 
Had caused them much content. 

The youngest maiden's thoughts returned 
Where they'd been often sent; 

And from the store of scripture truths 

This one she called to mind, 
That in the mercy shown to beasts 

One's character we find. 

The other girl had also read 

Much scripture in her day, 
But was too wise to call't to mind 

When bent on pleasure's sway. 

And when she saw far down the street 

A party riding fleet, 
She to her horse applied the whip 

And hastened them to meet. 



THE EQUESTRIAN PARTY. 187 



As they drew near the riders proved 
The ones they long had sought; 

And, in their joy at meeting, all 
Past troubles were forgot. 

But soon they proved the words, that all 

''This world's a fleeting show," 
For one young woman's horse when urged 
Would straightway trotting go; 

Which caused her such distress and gave 

Such mental anguish too. 
They gathered round and all did think 

What it were best to do. 

Then one whom years had wisdom taught. 

Inquired most earnestly, 
Why from the trotting -steed the girl 

Should not transferred be, 

Unto the easy-riding steed 

Her escort then bestrode, 
Which grave suggestion all agreed 

Unnatural wisdom showed. 



188 THE EQUESTRIAN PARTY. 



So, in a moment, all was o'er; 

At least some twentj^ past 
When the equestrians homeward turned 

Their wearj- steeds at last. 

One of the party rode a steed, 
Whom neither rein nor check, 

Could hinder in his efforts vast 
To break his owner's neck. 

And though each steed's peculiar mind 

Was different from the rest ; 
On one point they were all agreed 

They would not keep abreast. 

At last the riders reached their homes. 

But not as fresh and gay 
As when an hour or so before 

They started on their way. 

That night their bones were all full sore, 

But, O, the weariness, 
Which on the next and second day 

Their bodies did possess! 



THE EQUESTRIAN PARTY, 189 
The moral that this tale affords. 



I'm sure you'll all agree 
Has been so clearly shown, it need 
Not now repeated be. 

But, lest some mind the moral lose. 
And feel the loss most sadly. 

And others different morals choose, 
We'll state the true one gladly. 

'Tis this, when all have once agreed 

Upon a place of meeting, 
Let not wild youth's impetuous wish 

To give them earlier greeting. 

Cause you to gallop off too fast, 
Lest in the s^ain endeavor 

To o'erreach fate, jou. find too late, 
The friends are lost forever. 



190 



COMMANDMENT. 



SPEAK, " it said. ' 'The world will heed 
'Mid its heartache and wild laughter; 
Its sad toiling and its greed, 

And the silence that comes after 
The first heartbreak, when despair 

Strongest seems while passionless ; 
Speak, and to the world declare 
How Pain's ministry may bless." 

" Speak," it said. But 1 was dumb, 

In the sudden, strange outpouring 
Of the rapture that had come 

To my life, its past restoring. 
So I hid my face and said, 

"Lord, my lips unworthy prove; 
Let some heart still undismayed 

Teach the lessons of Thy love." 



COMMANDMENT. 191 



*' Speak, "it said. And then I poured 

All my soul into the telling 
How the angel, man-abhorred. 

Stern -faced Pain into mj dwelling 
Entered once and made her own 

All my claims to life together; 
Showed thenceforth her face alone, 

Changeless through the changing weather. 



Days and weeks and months rolled by ; 

Months grew into years before us, 
While we watched there, she and I, 

Embers of the fire, while o'er us. 
Stars shone through the summer nights, 

Rain fell through the autumn's grieving. 
Springs bloomed through the winters' 
blights. 

Yet she never spoke of leaving. 



192 COMMANDMENT. 



Stern and grave and sad her gaze 

Lingered on each wish I cherished, 
Until Hope forsook my wa3's, 

And my joys all slowly perished. 
Till at last I tried to hnj, 

Her departure fi'om my portal 
For I loathed her, being I, 

And but human ; she, immortal. 



So I bought her one by one 

All fair things that gave life pleasure, 
Merry thoughts that used to run 

Through the mind in joyous measure, 
Old delights and tenderness. 

Treasured yet more close since never 
On this earth their like shall bless 

Future effort or endeavor. 



COMMANDMENT. 193 



Then I laid beneath her touch, 

All the wild ambitious yearning 
That assailed me overmuch 

In youth's springtime undiscerning, — 
Yielded all, save one thing, kept 

In a secret place, where only 
My own heart knew that it slept, 

In a sacred stillness lonely. 



Then Pain spoke, who 3^ears had sat 

Mute and still, ' ' Your best is guarded. 
I am waiting still for that 

All to me must be awarded. 
E'er I leave you," Here her smile 

Filled me with strange sudden wonder. 
She had never smiled the while 

Of her sojourn my roof under. 



194 COMMANDMENT. 



Blinded, dazzled, by its light, 

Rendered powerless of concealing 
What was hers, even by the might 

Of her majesty's revealing, — 
Then I brought her where I kept 

Life's supreme and dearest token. 
Led her where Love's shadow slept 

Since the day his power was broken, 



Then she left, and nevermore 
Sought to enter at my door: 
But the wonder of her smile 
Lingers with me yet the while. 
And I sometimes know the fear 
I was blind while she was here. 



COMMANDMENT. 195 



So I spoke and so T wrought 
All the feeling into thought — 
But the blessing I should tell ? 
Pain has vanished, that is well ; 
But Love's shadow followed Pain, 
Thouo^ht alone doth now remain. 



Thought remains and thought alone 
Forms the life I call my own . 
Is it well when all is gone 
Thought and I should tarry on? 
*'Lord," I said, "I cannot guess 
How Pain's ministry may bless!" 



196 COMMANDMENT. 



From the bounds of night and day^ 
From the web of flesh and sense 
Was my spirit borne away, 
Severed from its earth pretense ; 
To a place where souls remain 
Ignorant of loss or power, 
And I missed, remembering Pain, 
My inheritance and dower. 



For I saw how very slow 
Souls who know not Pain do grow. 
All Pain's terror, all her good, 
By my soul was understood. 
'<Speak," was said, and I obeyed; 
When the flesh my soul arrayed. 



197 



APRIL WEATHER. 

A PRIL weather, you'd jest think the 
^~^ sun 
Never meant to shine agen, skies all dark 

and dun, 
Then a blaze of glory, not a cloud in sight, 
Seems like what is runnin' things 'd never 

git it right. 

April weather, pretty close to May, 
Here the robins jawin' bout it ever)^ day; 
Perkin' up and tellin' all about the run 
Of bad luck their havin' sense the spring 
begun. 

April weather, jest, and no man knows 
When the wind's a kitin' from which way 

it blows ; 
Awful tryin' season. It don't seem to me 
Sky's as bright and clear and blue as it 

ust to be . 



198 APRIL WEATHER. 



Got to quit my speechin' and see about the 

work. 
Neighbors mebbe have some right, callin' 

me a shirk; 
Alius laughin\ sneerin', cause I hear and 

know 
Other things in spring than rain while 

the green things grow. 

There's no use a talkin' wisht' I'd never 

had 
One more sense than other folks, makes 

me so blame mad. 
Wisht' the work was further, wisht' I'd 

time to say, 
Jest how glad I am the year's gitten 

into May. 

April weather, jest a year to -.lay — 

God! to think about it, — sense she went 

away; 
'Nd me a beggin', prayin', I might go with 

her, 
Er else she'd tell me bout the place 

she was startin' fer. 



APRIL WEATHER. 199 



''Where's your christian faith, man?" all 

the preachers say, 
Rubbin' in a smartin' wound when they 

come to pray. 
I can't make them understand how it run 

aground 
Such a little slab of stone and a tiny 

mound. 

Wonder ef she's found out! wonder ef she's 

sure, 
Wonder ef she feels now all that I endure! 
I knew more of heaven when Lucy Jane 

could speak, 
'N a raft of preachers could tell me in 

a week. 

I don't doubt that heaven's somewhere, 

shinin', strong, 
Can't be changed or altered jest by one 

man's wrong; 
Know this sure and certain, lived once in 

that state, 
'Fore last April left me all disconsolate. 



200 APRIL WEATHER. 



Yes I'm sure of heaven, but what tries me 

more 
Is, jest what a man kin do, when God shets 

the door. 
There's so much of hunger and so little 

food; 
Mebbe ef he's been there once, that is all he 

should. 

Mebbe there warn't quite enough — seems so 

when its found — 
Bliss to last forevermore, 'nd its passed 

around : 
Jest a taste of rapture, then an awful 

thirst 
For an endless time of love, stronger than 

the first. 

I don't know egsactly what I'd say or do 
Ef she'd come and kiss me, ef my dreams 

came true; 
Ef some April mornin' when the sun shines 

bright, 
I should see her standin', shinin' on my 

sight. 



APRIL WEATHER. 201 



Think I'd go plumb crazy, wouldn't need a 

word. 
I'd forgive the year that's gone sense I've 

seen or heard. 
I'd forgive a lifetime, all that men endure, 
Ef only while I'm waitin', I could jest be 

sure. 



202 



WAIFS. 



SCATTERED, here and there, 
Where all or none may see ; 
Lost from heart's keeping, where 

They nevermore may be 
Its own, once flown, 

My songs go forth from me. 

Read by many or few, 

Laughed at, spurned, or sought; 
Ah, if the people knew 

From what the song was wrought! 
Heart's loss, grief's cross. 

Ah, if the heedless thought! 

Some live on through the years; 

The best? Lo, who shall say? 
Ever the truth appears 

Stronger through Time's delay. 
Heart's good, withstood, 

Lives in a song some day. 



2oa 



THE CRITIC'S VERDICT. 



T T chanced I heard what the Poet said 
^ When the critics gave him leave. 
They all agreed, < ' It is sad to read 

How a soul like his can grieve. 
If he could write in his fates despite 

Of Hope — we might then believe. " 

He answered them, ' < One writes what one 
knows. 
Far better it is to tell 
Of thorns that wind 'round the paths we 
find 
If they be described well. 
Than to cheat the eyes with mists that rise 
Before Hope's glamouring spell. 

I write of pain, for my life grew one 

With its shadow day by day. 
There is no need you should pause to read 

The words that I fain must sslj. 
Somewhere I know there are souls that grow 

Toward God in the self- same way. 



204 THE CRITIC'S VERDICT. 



I write for those who have stood alone 
In the dark, where none might see 

Their soul's distress in its loneliness, 
For I know that such there be; 

And they will hear with the inward ear, 
While the critics disagree. 



I write to tell of a certainty, 

So much stronger in its might. 
Than hopes that break, leaving hearts that 
ache 
More keenly for their light; 
Of strength, outgrown from the spirit's 
moan; 

Of God's everlasting right. 



But the critics murmured on, that Hope, 
Although proved deceit, was still 

A better theme for a poet's dream 
Than a strength derived from ill. 

But I was glad that the Poet had 

Proved stronger than their will. 



205 



REOENERATION. 

piRST, discontent 

^ With what the hand can reach, and then 
Grieving, as swift each bubble breaks 
Within the grasp, that overtakes 
To lose again. 

Dull wonderment, as life goes on, 
Unchecked bj^ loss of all that made 

The effort it has undergone 

Seem worth the struggle thus betrayed. 

An insight into Order's laws ; 

Thence surety past all hopes or fears. 
Of living strength through Nature's flaws;. 

Of good beyond the fleeting years. 

Perception through the letter's art 
Of truths its forms but dimly show, 

That one must lose life's counterpart 
Before the real life he may know. 



206 REGENERATION. 



He who would find his life must lose 
Desire that all may understand 

Its poor expression, and must choose 
To be, unproved, the substance grand. 

Regenerate, aye, born again ; 

These are the throes the soul must bear, 
Before its entrance otherwhere 

To truths but dimly guessed of men. 



207 



THE PHARISEE. 

T THANK Thee, Lord, that I am not 
As other men, whose lives fulfill 
Their destiny, nor well, nor ill, 
But tamely prove a common lot. 

I thank Thee for the power to turn 
From sin's domain the passions rude 
That try the heart, until for good 

Their utmost strength alone may yearn. 

I thank Thee for the restlessness 
That drives me on, without reprieve : 
I thank Thee that no more I grieve 

For low contentment's |^listlessness. 

I thank Thee for the keen desire 

To search Thy laws, that fills my breast ; 
For truth that lies^all unexpressed 

Save to the minds that do not tire. 



THE PHARISEE. 



I thank Thee even for all loss, 

All bitterness, that proved at length 
Unto the life a source of strength 

To separate it from world's dross: 

And that, through bars of flesh and sense 
That bind the soul, I feel and know 
Thy love's revealment, even though 

They mar its larger consequence. 

I thank Thee, Lord, for all these things ; 
For my life's lot, for others' good, 
For rest denied, and peace withstood, 

For all that clearer knowledge brings : 

For this identity, that strives 
At variance with what surrounds 
The narrow circle of its bounds, 

I thank Thee, while it yet survives. 



209 



THE PROBLEM. 



T HAVE followed the thought of Charles 
* Darwin, 

Through creation's vast problem, to find 
At the last that the link is still missing 

Which should marry all matter to mind. 
Ive evolved from the Past but the knowl- 
edge, 

" Thus far slialt thou go, and th}^ kind." 

I've attended the later-day lectures. 

With which ministers striA^e to supplj. 
The hunger and thirst of the needy ; 

But mere words cannot stifle the cry 
" Give us food or we perish, ' that echoes 
From men's souls that for lack of it die. 



310 THE PROBLEM. 



I've drawn close to the second-sight seers, 

And sought, while they truly did show 
My life and my thought and my purpose, 

Their secret and insight to know; 
But though baffled, each soul that so 
searches 
Clears the soil where Truth's blossoms 
shall grow. 

I have sat in the halls where the culture, 
Called Ethical, seeks to dispel. 

The hope and the fear so inherent 
In man's soul, of a heaven and hell; 

'Til the clamor of words made me able 
To exclaim when they'd proved it, 'tis well ! 

And then, when, my searching all ended, 
I've returned to myself, is made known 

The strength and the power of the spirit ; 
The Truth that in silence is shown, 

Through the still voice that whispers, ' 'Be 
patient, 
Grod is, thou shalt come to thy own." 



11 



MY PRAYEE. 

r\ LORD, my God, through all my life 
^-^ Let Hope be mine ; 

To whisper still of Thy Di\ine, 
When all my ways are filled with' strife, 
When all my thoughts with care are rife. 
Lest I repine ! 

Lord, my God, for cheerfulness, 
I then would pray ; 
Through each dark hour that clouds the 

Seeming to make Thy bounty less 
Than it forever is, to bless 
The devious way ! 

And then, to keep me near Thee, send 

With ill or good — 

That it may well be understood 

An humble spirit, to befriend 
Though Life's ordeal, unto its end 

My humanhood. 



212 



VICTORY. 

A S I lay a dying, a dying, 
•^ The noise rolled up from the st 
Where men were selling and buying,— 

For the day was incomplete, — 
Till the quiet chamber echoed 

With the tread of their restless feet. 

As I lay a dying, a djing, 

The faces came and went ; 
The living faces were crying, 

But the dead ones looked content. 
'Twas the only way I could tell them, 

So closely were they blent. 



VICTORY. 313 



As I lav a dying, a dying, 

I took back the words I had said, 

Against God's grace in denying 
The hour for which I had prayed. 

I was strong to forgive my existence, 
The hour before I was dead. 

As I lay a dying, a dying. 

Was hushed Life's bitter moan. 

The heartache ceased from its cryino* 
At Life's injustice shown. 

I had thought, at the last, God would hear it ; 
But I went on alone. 

As I lay a dying, a dying, — 

friends /never died ! 
I reached Love's truth, whose denying 

Had caused all griefs betide ; 
But I lost all griefs in the passing 

Lo ! with Death's self they died. 



214 



EXPIATION. 

[ DIED. Grod placed me in a lurid place, 
* Because of deeds done in the body's 

thrall. 
(For my soul's good it was.) And all the 
space 
About it echoed with the wailing call 
Of evil souls. Ceaseless it rose and fell^ 
And one in passing railed and called it 
Hell ! 

But still I heard, as when I lived on earth, 
Faint rapturous music halting into speech. 
And in my heart there was no sense of 
dearth ; 
Still to my soul Love's mighty chord did 
reach ; 
And so I did not fear its gruesome spell, 
I knew the while I heard, it was not Hell. 



EXPIATION. 215 



I lifted lip my eyes and from afar 

Two of Gods angels came and stood 
amazed 
Beholding me. Where utmost raptures are 
Their sphere triumphant rolls, — They 
stood and gazed, 
^'Can God be mocked?" they said. <' Lord 
is it well, 
To leave this soul who hears Thy voice, 
in Hell?" 

I strove to answer them. They could not 
hear. 
My voice was soundless through my 
happy tears. 
God's voice filled all the place and far and 
near 
A tremor ran through high and nether 
spheres. 
I strove to answer them, ' ' Lo, all is well ; 
He does not leave the soul who loves, in 
Hell ! 



216 EXPIATION. 



' ' Lo, I am here because of evilness 
That overcame my struggling soul on 
earth. 
Here in this place of tumult and distress 

Must I await in hope my soul's rebirth. 
Here louder, hour by hour, soundeth the 
knell 
Of fallen nature's power. Can such be 
Hell? 

< ' The debt of sin I pay. God cannot err ; 
Here or in highest Heaven, I am Hia 
own, 
To raise or to cast down. All souls that 
were 
On earth to reach His Heaven draw near 
the throne 
Through expiating that by which they fell. 
I am content, though this indeed be 
Hell ! " 



EXPIATION. 217 



My whole soul thrilled with music and I 
knew 
God's will the while they heard. I bowed 
my head. 
The sweeping flames leapt nearer. They 
withdrew, 
Their questioning souls silenced and 
comforted . 
Beneath my feet I heard the demons yell, 
And yet for me the place could not be 
Hell. 

What then is Heaven? To love! and that 
alone. 
How am I Heaven debarred since this I 
know? 
What though beside me souls in torment 
groan, 
Not knowing yet what only Love can 
show? 
Who has known Love may not his law repel, 
For such an one, in truth, there is no 
Hell ! 



218 



THE PORTAL. 



I SAID, '< It is my will 



That guards from Sin's invasion my 
weak heart." 
And thenceforth strove with every human 
art 
To strengthen will, but faltered as before. 

God said, " It is thy thought. 

That opes to Sin's advancement thy 

heart's door. 
Make clean thy thought, and then 
forevermore 
As one of us, lo, undismayed thou art!" 



219 



DUALITY. 



/^ SOUL, companion in Life's mj^stery, 
^-^ How many times since I began to be, 
Thou hast grown weary of thy charge in 
me ! 

And I, how many times I've wished that 

thou 
And I might part! We dare not each avow 
How many times unto each other now. 

How often would'st thou soar were I not 

by, 

To hinder all thy striving, even I, 

To mar thy song triumphant with my cry. 

The time draws near when thou mayst rise, 

soul, freed 
From this that dulls thy efforts with its 

need 

Of things to which thou giv'st such little 
heed. 



220 DUALITY. 



I shall not grieve at parting. Thou hast 

made 
By thy monitions and thy counsels staid, 
Life only, that of which I am afraid. 

It may be that when we together stand 
For the last time, when God dissolves the 

band 
That holds us now, aye, on His borderland, 

We may forgive each other all the good 
That we have missed, the joys misunder- 
stood, 
The pain and grief of this long bondagehood ! 



Soul! companion in Life's mystery, 

Be patient yet a little while with me 

Ere thou mayst rise and I may cease to be. 



321 



THE VOICE OF THE SPIRIT. 



T AM that I am, and the ages shall change 

-^ me not. 

Time, past and to come, is not before my 

thought. 
This I inhabit is subject to change and 

death, 
Upheld alone by the might of the Spirit's 

breath ! 

I am that I am, and I leave as I found 

them. 
The appearances met in the forms that 

surround them; 
The rapture called Youth that knows no 

second morrow, 
The wisdom called Age, and the life breath 

called Sorrow. 



222 THE VOICE OF THE SPUUT. 

I am that I am, and the stretches of space 

for me 
Wait the fulfilling my manifold destinj^ 
Lo, the stars and the winds and the Law 

that restrains them, 
Are one and the same with the Spirit that 

names them! 

I am that I am, hindered, caught from 

pursuing 
My flight after Truth, to the moment's 

undoing ; 
But the lodestar of Earth shall prove faint 

in concealing, 
What I seek, when is ripe the Sought' s 

utmost revealing ! 

I wait without hope, without fear, the 

betrayment 
Of the spell of the flesh, that conceals in 

its raiment 
This force which is I, for in waiting or 

moving, 
I am that I am, beyond question or proving. 



333 



OCCULTISM. 



T^HE lowest depth that thou canst reach^ 
* The grandest height thou canst attain, 
Thy kind possess. When thou canst teach 
Thy spirit this, the rest is plain. 

Thence comes a helpfulness for all 
That strive beside thee for the light. 

They are thyself, whate'er befall, 

Their sin is thine, their peace thy right. 



224 



PERCEPTION. 

T MYSELF, through it all! 
* I, myself, consciously 
Behold the mystery. 
Swayed by the bad and good. 
Throughout my humanhood, 

Each must befall : 
By each in turn possessed, 
Each by my soul confessed, 

Hearken Life's call! 

I myself, through it all, 
I myself, changelessly 
Witness the things that be. 
Witness Youth's passage fleet 
Dauntless old Age to greet, 

These are not all. 
Joy, pain, hope, fear, are one 
After their trial is done 
Down the scales fall ! 



PERCEPTION. 225 



I myself am the whole ! 

What beside judges true 

All Life can say or do? 
What is it does not fear 
Death's touch with duty near, 

Flesh, sense, or soul? 
Lo, the flesh bends and breaks; 
Doubt the sense overtakes; 

Sees, then, the Soul! 



336 



AB INITIO. 

WHAT did I do in the past, I wonder. 
By Ttieosophy portioned as mine, of 
Fate? 
'Neath what skies ran that conflict under? 
Came Death too soon? Did he tarry late? 
Was Love my shame, or Life's crowning 
glory? 
Was Hate my captive, or owned my king? 
There is no page of the vanished story 
To be returned for my reckoning. 

Filled joy or sorrow that far-off living? 

Was I of noble or low degree? 
Was I proud of strength that now Karma's 
giving 

Restricts so sadly the soul of me? 
Was I kind or cruel who now so lonely 

These questions ask? Am I opposite 
In the scale of Fate, or the outcome only 

Of former livinsj because of it? 



AB INITIO. 227 



Fifteen hundred years since tliat livinor, 

Fifteen hundred are yet to be, 
Before this bundle of hopes and grievino- 

Becomes embodied again as me. 
Ah! the little time for the Soul's completing, 

And the dragging passage of centuries, 
The moment's space of the earth-life 
fleeting, 

Ere is reached the last of its victories ! 

The creed were useful if surely tracing 

The web of the net that now confines, 
The justice plain of Life's present placing, 

Soul's right of freedom for which it pines. 
That knowledge waiting in far, cold spaces, 

Between the living, is all unknown 
While the conflict rages in earthly places, 

To the struggling human it is not shown . 



228 



SOUL CRAVING. 

IF there were but one, we say softly, 
One other to know 
The weight of the burden that living 

To each soul doth show: 
If there were but one to know fully 
The days as they grow! 



When God said, " Let light be," it shone 
forth. 

His mandate to greet, 
Revealing all forms of creation, 

The strong and the sweet; 
Man only, the shade of his Maker, 

Was made incomplete. 



SOUL CRAVING. 229 



The flowers and the fruits and the seasons, 

Ungifted with will, 
Bloom on as at first, all Law's order 

And grace to fulfill : 
But the breath and the thought of the 
human. 

Bring grief with them still. 



Lo! everything finished, completed, 

Seen good of its kind, 
Save the last of the thinking incarnate, 

Man's spirit and mind. 
Which ever, the walls of their dwelling 

So hinder and bind. 



Is it true that the old scriptures tell us, 

This thing, that our God 
Is jealous of progress, and renders 

The way we have trod 
So thorny because the true knowledge 

Would lighten His rod? 



230 SOUL CRAVING. 



Ah no, with the old days have vanished 

The fear and the dread, 
Of man's image made fiercer and larger, 

And placed overhead 
In some stronghold of justice, the tyrant 

Men worshipped, is dead! 



As a blind man to whom has been granted 

The sight never known. 
Might strive in the black of the midnight 

To image the sun, 
So we in the darkness of Nature 

The vision have won. 



And yet, till the dawn, we have only 

A new, useless sense; 
And still do the blind call the vision 

An idle pretense, 
And tread the ditch'd circle that never 

Leads outward from thence. 



SOUL CRAVING 231 



From Life's incompletion is proved 

The only mistake, 
That throughout the chain of creation 

God's wisdom doth make ; 
Or else that a progress unending 

Exists for its sake. 



The soul growing stronger casts ever 

A deepening shade, 
It is this we see only and tremble 

Within it afraid ; 
Yet the height and the breadth of the 
substance 

The shadow has made. 



332 



LOVE'S DWELLING HOUSE. 

NOT built of reeds or leafy boughs, 
Not hidden in far solitudes, 
Is this the wondrous dwelling house 

O'er which Love's gracious spirit broods: 
But placed within the city's street, 

Amid men's daily strife and care ; 
Humble it stands where grandeurs meet 
Yet none the less Love's dwelling fair 

And yet with awe our hearts are filled 

Whene'er we enter at the door. 
That mighty Love with us hath willed 

To tarry here and share our store . 
However humble it may seem. 

Life's crowning gift it doth contain; 
All else is but an empty dream, 

And home itself a mocking name. 



LOVE'S DWELLING HOUSE. 233 

O narrow space, to hold so much I 

littleness, which yet is great! 
O sacred place wherein we touch 

The ruler of all life and Fate! 
God grant the walls be firm and strong. 

And that the door, 'though sorely tried, 
May bar out hate and sin and wrong 

Forever from our fireside. 

We may not bar from out the door 

Sad Sickness' face, whom all must greet; 
And passing Griefs upon our floor 

May loiter with unwelcome feet ; 
And Poverty may find a place 

Herein to bide nor further roam ; 
But by God's ever living grace 

All these are naught while this is Home ^ 

For Love is here our Lord and King. 

Love's very self with us doth dwell ; 
Whose touch makes light our suffering, 

Whose voice is heard and all is well. 
Through life we feel His presence near. 

Through death we shall behold His face. 
The kingdom of our God is here 

Begun on earth within this place. 



Zbc princess Beautiful. 



235 



THE PRINCESS BEAUTIFUL. 

There once lived a princess who was so 
beautiful that her like did not live upon the 
earth. Nor ever had lived within man's 
memory. There was no charm of face or 
form which she did not possess. And the 
fame of her beauty spread far and wide 
until her father's kingdom was thronged 
with travelers who came to worship at the 
living shrine which held the perfection of 
that ideal beauty which men desire, but 
which, until her time, had never been 
encased in mortal mold . 

Now this princess was very proud, and 
satisfied with her own perfection. She 
took no pleasure in the society of an}' other 
person. Being so beautiful, she took small 
notice of any of her father's subjects, and 
much preferred to gaze upon her own face 
to looking at the inferior countenances of 
those around her. 



236 THE PRINCESS BEAUTIFUL. 

Nor was this state of things much 
changed when the time came for her to 
marry. As may be readily supposed, she 
had many suitors, but she was disdainful 
to each and all of them, and married the 
prince her father selected for her with so 
much gracious indifference of manner that 
the other princes were half consoled at 
their worse fortune and did not hate the 
prince so cordially as they might have done 
had she been able to manifest the least 
interest in him. 

But as time went on there came at last a 
change, and to the Princess Beautiful was 
granted life's great and crowning gift of 
motherhood. At first she loved her little 
child because he too, like her, was beauti- 
ful ; but gradually, day by day, she paid 
less attention to her own loveliness, and 
thought more and more about this tiny life 
that lived and rejoiced in life because of 
her. She grew also to care more for the 
father of her child and to take an interest 
in her subjects , who were so proud of her 
and of her little son, their prince. And so 



THE PRIKCESS BEAUTIFUL. 237 

the years slipped by until the boy had 
smiled at her on eight birthdays since the 
one when first she held him in her arms 
and knew the beginning of an interest in 
something more worthy than her old indif- 
ference and self-satisfaction. 

And then one dreadful day the little 
prince disappeared from the palace, as com- 
pletely as though the earth had closed over 
him, (as it does when one has accomplished 
his life's purpose and come to the begin- 
ning of its revealment. ) They sought him 
long and earnestly. The old king and the 
prince and princess, the courtiers and all 
the people journeyed all over the kingdom, 
but there could be found no trace of him. 
After many months the people gradually 
gave up searching, and together with the 
king and prince mourned the boy as being 
hopelessly lost. But the Princess Beauti- 
ful could not live as she had done before 
the little prince was given to her, and she 
started out alone to search for him all 
through the world. Nor was this at all 
self-sacrificing on her part, because she 



238 THE PRINCESS BEAUTIFUL. 

could not rest without such searching. 
She met with much kindness from many- 
people, for the fame of her beauty and the 
great loss which had befallen her were 
widely known, but no one could tell her of 
her son. Until one day she met a strong, 
dark man (who was of the race of the 
immortals.) He smiled when she told him 
the reason of her journey. "I do not 
know where your son is, " he said . " But I 
am related to a race who know much of the 
affairs of men, and I might direct you to 
some one who could tell you more of him. 
My name is Force. And men call me 
various names, some of which are Magnet- 
ism and Personal Charm. I draw from or 
grant unto each one with whom I come in 
contact. I have been very generous to you 
all your life. What will you give me if I 
will tell you something of your son ? " 
"0 sir," the princess cried, "I will 
give you anything you desire in my king- 
dom! Great wealth and jewels, the most 
costly things in my possession, if you will 
only tell me how to find my little boy again. 



THE PRINCESS BEAUTIFUL. 239 

You shall have anything you may ask for/' 
The strong man laughed disdainfully. 
'<I have no use for wealth," he said, 
* ' but that is not the only thing you have 
to offer. Will you return to me that subtle 
gift I gave you at your birth, and which 
draws to you the hearts of men, that 
which is your chief charm will j'ou render 
up again to gain some tidings of j^our son?" 
The princess hesitated. She thouo-ht 
what it would be like to live without the 
homage she had always been accustomed 
to. But her need was great, and she felt 
that the presence of her child would make up 
after all for the loss of what now seemed to 
her so valueless without him, and so she 
said to the dark figure, ' ' I will, " and 
closed her eyes and bowed her head while he 
touched her. Instantly she felt somethino- 
which she had always thought was life 
itself depart from her, and a feeling of 
great cold possessed her, and henceforth 
when she met mankind a feeling of distrust 
and fear as to what they thought of her 
was constantly with the princess. 



240 THE PRINCESS BEAUTIFUL. 

Now this was very bitter to one who had 
never felt such emotions before. She 
looked imploringly at Force, who said, "I 
am only one of many. I cannot tell you 
where your son is, but I can tell you the 
name of my sister, and she can tell you 
more if you will pay her price. Her name 
is Vanity and she is coming toward you 
through the city yonder." 

The princess sought to question him 
more about her next guide, but when she 
dried her tears and turned to speak to him 
he had disappeared. 

Now when the princess met Vanity she 
had no doubt as to her identity; a curious 
feeling of being related to her and yet of 
disliking her was strong within the mind of 
the princess as she approached and asked 
about her boy. 

Now Vanity was herself beautiful. Her 
garments were fashioned of the cobwebs 
that are stretched upon the grass when first 
the sun rises. But there was about her an 
air of unreality which made the princess 
fear she could not be of much use to her in 



THE PRINCESS BEAUTIFUL. 241 

her quest. Vanity smiled graciously, and 
said she could certainly aid the princess, 
although she could not bring her directly to 
her son. • ' But what will you give me for 
my services? " she said. "I am not mor- 
tal like yourself and only supersensuous 
things are of value to me . Will you give 
me the bloom upon your face, the light of 
your eyes that dazzles all beholders, the 
smoothness of your brow, the lustre and 
glory of your hair, 3'our crown of woman- 
hood? Will you go on from me dis- 
pleasing to the sight and with the loss of 
all your beauty? " 

This time the princess did not hesitate. 
"Yes, yes/' she cried. "What are 
these things to me, when my child may be 
obtained by their loss? Take them all and, 
0! in mercy direct me where I ma}^ find 
him." 

Vanity laughed softl}^ to herself. "You 
need not further run the gauntlet," she 
declared, ' ' since I have won from you all 
that the rest of our family might desire. 
You have onl}' one thing more to lose. See 



242 THE PRINCESS BEAUTIFUL. 

yonder in the wood that tall, veiled figure 
standing. She can bring you to your own 
again." And Vanity tripped away over 
the meadow, while the poor despoiled and 
saddened princess ran to the veiled figure 
and, falling at her feet, told all her sor- 
rowful story, and besought her name and 
kindly offices. The figure raised the prin- 
cess from the ground. ' ' You have once 
known me," she said, ''since I brought to 
you your son, who has been removed from 
you, as you shall yet know, in kindness, 
and who shall be restored if you are strong 
enouo-h to pay the last price demanded of 
you?"" 

The figure placed her arms around the 
princess, and into her poor, hungry soul 
there crept a sense of such protecting love 
and shelter that she ceased to fear and 
tremble, and waited to hear what she must 
next give up to obtain her child again. 

The figure paused a moment and then 
drew back her veil. The princess gazed in 
rapture at the wonderful face that beamed 
upon her gaze . The beautiful face, whose 



THE PRINCESS BEAUTIFUL. 243 

beauty transcended what hers had been, 
because it held an element she had never 
known. " I was called beautiful,'' cried 
the princess, '^but I never had the beauty 
which you show. 0, highest and best, tell 
me your name, and, 0! tell me, where is 
my little son? " 

• ' Tell me first, " said the figure, ' 'will you 
pay the price? Who reads the name writ- 
ten on my forehead must do so with 
unselfish eyes. Who calls my name must 
do it with unselfish lips. Who knows my 
meaning and my purpose must learn 
through rendering up all trace of self. By 
such only am I understood. Gaze upon 
me, and if you are worthy you will see my 
name." The princess gazed, and as she 
looked, all the radiance of the figure's face 
gathered upon its forehead. Little sparkles 
of light glanced here and there, until 
finally the princess read in glowing letters 
of flame upon the serene and beautiful 
forehead the name of Motherhood. Then 
all grew dark around the princess and she 
sank away into a swoon. And when she 



244 THE PRINCESS BEAUTIFUL. 

came to herself her little son was with her. 
Then hand in hand, through many lands 
and climes, they journeyed slowly back 
unto her father's kingdom. 

There was great rejoicing at their return. 
And as the princess had gained a new and 
tender thoughtfulness through her misfor- 
tunes, she was more beloved than ever, 
although for very different reasons. As 
the years went by she grew like the veiled 
figure in the wood more every day. So 
that in the kingdom where she long lived 
and reigned, there came at last to be in 
men's sight all her olden charm with the 
something added which she had seen in the 
face of that figure. To all her subjects 
was she dearer than of j^ore. And when 
men speak of her, even to this day, she is 
still called, The Princess Beautiful . 



246 



THE FAK COUNTRY. 

There once lived a man who felt con- 
stantly in his soul the longing to go to a 
far country. 

In the home where his lot in life had 
been cast he had everything man could 
desire to make his life a happy one. He 
had pleasant gardens and a beautiful 
house filled with books and music and 
flowers. He had dear friends, a wife who 
loved him truly, and sweet little children to 
call him father. 

He had great wealth and all that great 
wealth brings of culture and learning, but 
he had also with it all the longing for the 
far country. And one day when he could 
bear no longer the hunger and thirst of his 
spirit, he went away from all that he had 
known, and began a search for the place. 



THE FAR COUNTRY. 247 

the intuition of which had rendered all his 
prosperous life so valueless to him. He 
left his home and friends, his loving wife 
and children, and went away alone to 
search for what he knew somewhere awaited 
him, the peace which passe th understand- 
ing of the far country. 

Now when he did not return again his 
friends and wife and children mourned for 
him and missed him sadly from their midst. 
But, as time went on, they grew accus- 
tomed to their life without him, and con- 
tinued to live as they had done and take 
pleasure in the beautiful house and gar- 
dens; although they remembered how much 
more beautiful it had all seemed before 
their dearest had gone awa}^ unto the far 
country. 

Among the children of this man was one 
who was more like him than the others. He 
had been always glad to sit upon his 
father's knees and hear him talk about 
the far country, so he grieved sorely 
when his father went away alone to find 
this land. He alone took pleasure no 



248 THE FAR COUNTRY. 

longer in his former games and plays nor 
in the amusements of his brothers and sis- 
ters. And one day he resolved to set 
forth, all ignorant as he was, in search of 
his father and the far country. He walked 
a long way; sometimes crying softly to him- 
self, because he was such a little boy and 
felt so helpless in the search he had under- 
taken, and sometimes singing as the way 
seemed nearing the place he sought. His 
feet grew ver}" tired and he was more often 
sorrowful than glad; but he never thought 
of turning back, or ceasing from his quest, 
because he also bore within his soul the 
longing for the far country. 

The child met many persons as he jour, 
neyed. Some traveling in the direction he 
was going, but more walking toward him 
and away from what he hoped was the right 
direction. So he questioned them one by 
one, telling them where he was going, and 
that his father was only a little way ahead 
of him, and asking them if they had seen 
him, or if they were sure about the path- 
way leading to the far country. 



THE FAR COUNTRY. 249 

Many of the people told the child that 
his search was useless; tliat he had better 
go back to his own place in the land where 
he was born, and that there was no such 
countr}' to be found as he described. They 
had come toward him from all lands and 
directions and while they had heard vague 
rumors of such a place they had never met 
any one who had seen it, and that no one 
ever came back from the journey he had 
started on. " Gro back now," they im- 
plored him, "and live the life that men 
may understand. Be happy and industri- 
ous and learned and give up this vain 
searching for what is so unsure ; for this 
desire which feeds upon your soul brings no 
one happiness. GrO back while yet you may 
and leave to those whose birthright it is 
the possession of the far country. 

But the child pressed on until one day 
he met a beautiful woman whom he ques- 
tioned, as he did each one he met, if she 
had heard of, or knew the way toward, the 
far country. 

The woman looked upon the dusty, way- 



250 THE FAR COUNTRY. 

worn child, and the bitterness of her soul, 
that showed through all her beauty, melted 
into pity as she answered him. ' ' There is 
but one thing that can aid you^ dear heart, '' 
she said, " in this or any other country, and 
that is gold. With gold one can buy cul- 
ture and learning. These alone can guide 
you to the far country. I have never had 
the means, but I am sure there is but one 
way, that of learning, to find the pathway 
to the place you seek. Life without knowl- 
edge of the far country is bitterness when 
one has the desire for it. You are too poor 
and helpless for this quest and without 
gold it is useless for you to continue it. " 

"My father," said the child, "had 
these things of which you speak. He had 
books, and knowledge, and great wealth, 
but he left these thinajs behind him and 
started forth, as I have done, all ignorant 
of the pathway. If he had surely known 
the way to go he would have taken me 
with him to find that home. And so I 
cannot feel that gold is the one thing need- 
ful." 



THE FAR COUNTRY. 251 

The woman thought a little while on what 
the child had said. "I have always felt it 
was," she said, plowly. "I know no other 
means to find the way. I shall try yet 
longer to procure the knowledge by working 
hard for sjold, then I shall study, and when 
I find the way I will return and overtake 
you, and we will go together then unto the 
far country. " 

The child took leave of her sadly, for he 
was loath to part from anyone who knew the 
longing for the place he sought. 

One day he overtook a man journeying 
in the same direction he had chosen, and 
he asked him if he had seen his father, and 
if he knew anything about the longed-for 
land. The man was tall and strong. He 
had a noble face. He lifted the child from 
the ground and carried him in his arms as 
he talked. He had not seen the child's 
father, but he knew about the far country. 

' 'There is only one way to find the entrance 
to it," he said, " and that is by loving some 
one better than one's own life. This great 
love lights the pathway; when two persons 



252 THE FAR COUNTRY. 

feel this love for one another there is no 
longer any doubt. Thej^ are upon the 
pathway to the far country. 

But you are such a little boy, 3"ou can- 
not understand this yet. You are too 
young to undertake this journe3^ Wait 
yet a few more years before you seek to 
find the way. There is much awaiting you 
in this land of joy and happiness before 
you need to seek the Blessed in the far 
country. " 

The child put his arms around the man's 
neck . He leaned his head back and looked 
into the man's eyes. ' ' 1 am so glad 1 met 
you," he cried; '< since 3"ou have found this 
great love and are upon the pathway! And 
are you sure this is the only wav? And 
where is the one whom you love, whose 
answering love shall guide us all to the fair 
region of the far country? " 

The man's face grew very sad, yet a 
great tenderness softened the sorrow and 
made it very beautiful. 

'^She whom I love," he said, " feels not 
for me this self-surrender. Had she done so, 



THE FAR COUNTRY. 253 

we should be even now within the borders 
of the far country. Therefore is it that I 
am hindered in ray journey, for while I 
understand Love is the only way, I am as 
yet ignorant why my love has thus far 
served me not as a help but a hindrance. 
Now while I understand this so imper- 
fectly, I find that I progress but slowly 
toward the far country. But it will all be 
plain to me some day, " he continued. "To 
those who feel the longing, soon or late the 
pathway will be shown that leads unto this 
countr3^" 

<' I feel it! " said the child. " Then am 
I sure! hasten your steps and seek with 
me more rapidly this pathway! " 

But the man could not walk faster 
because he was yet so ignorant of the 
reason whj^ his love had proved a source of 
sorrow instead of blessedness unto his soul. 

And so the child, not having known this 
hindrance, parted from him and hurried on, 
while a great doubt rested on him like a 
cloud, tbat he should never find the far 
country. 



254 THE FAR COUNTRY. 

As he ran on, the hills which had been 
on either side of him for many miles drew 
nearer to each other, and the sandy soil 
which had so tired and blistered his feet 
gave way unto a winding road with great 
rocks scattered here and there, around 
which he could climb with difficulty. But 
he hurried on, and presently he saw an old 
old man seated on one of the rocks. 

The child again resumed his questioning, 
and heard with joy that his father had 
passed that way. The old man could not tell 
him how long ago, but he had seen and 
talked with him, and told him, as he did the 
boy, that he was in the right pathway and 
Yery near indeed unto the far country. 

* ' You cannot miss the way now, " said 
the old man. "Where these hills narrow 
and meet is the entrance to the country. I 
have never felt, myself, the desire to go 
on farther and explore this valley. My 
home is here. Those who wish may seek 
and find this country. I know it is just 
beyond, where the hills meet, for no one 
ever comes back to dispute this, and many 



THE FAR COUNTRY. 255 

people pass this way all seeking this same 
place; but few indeed there are so young 
and so eager." 

The child felt very sorry for the man 
who was content to live so near and yet 
outside the far country, and he told him 
so, then hurried on, till finally he reached 
the place where the great rocks met and he 
could go no farther. 

He could see through a narro\v space, 
but it was very dark and heavy mists hung 
all about the place. The child was very 
tired and cold. He lay down beside one of 
the rocks and wept. He thought of all he 
had left in the land where he had lived ; of 
his playmates and his brothers and sisters • 
of his mother, who must now be grieving 
for him as she had grieved for his father. 
And as he thought of all these things he 
glanced above him at the rock and there he 
saw his father's name, and beneath the 
name were the words, '< I have found here 
the only entrance to the far country." 
Then the child, not knowing what else to 
do, and despairing of any entrance through 



256 THE FAR COUNTRY. 

the rocks to the country, called loudly to 
his father to return and take him to his 
place beside him. And thus calling and 
weeping, he fell asleep. 

Now while he slept he saw the great 
rocks slowly open, and the mists surround- 
ing them were lifted, and he looked into a 
more beautiful place than he had ever 
imagined in his fairest dreams of the far 
country. A soft, white light glowed every- 
where as far as he could see, which 
changed not like the light of the sun, and 
which cast no shadows as the sunlight does. 
— All the shadows of the far country were 
clustered about the entrance to it, and 
within where this white light shone there 
was no change. 

The child saw great multitudes of people 
walking about in groups, and upon the 
faces of those who spoke the same language 
there dwelt a great peace. They seemed 
to belong in bands of varying num- 
bers, and he perceived that those who be- 
longed to one another were never sepa- 
rated, and that they were all sure where 



THE FAR COUNTRY 257 

the)' belonged and were all satisfied. Now, 
as he looked, he saw one of the groups 
open and his father come out from among 
the people surrounding him. He came 
toward the child, and leaving the fair coun- 
try he entered the shadows of the border- 
land. Nearer and nearer he came, while 
the mists gathered around him until the 
child could only see his face. That shone 
with the light that filled all the region he 
had left. That shone, the while his father 
stooped and raised the boy unto his breast 
and carried him back gently through the 
mists and shadows unto the place from 
whence he came. 

And, when his father touched him, the 
child knew that he should hunger no more, 
neither thirst any more, because the long- 
ing in his soul was stilled now that he was 
come unto his own. And, in the place of 
the longing, a great love filled his soul, a 
love that was not for father or mother, or 
friends or brethren, but was greater than 
any love he had yet known, because it was 
the love of Love and not its symbols, even 



258 THE FAR COUNTRY. 

the knowledge of Love that waits Love's 
own. 

* -X- ■!<■ -St * -X- 

Now it happened that the old man 
thought about the child more than about 
the other travelers who had passed his way, 
and finally, when he did not return, he 
resolved to go and find the country the 
child had s.mght so earnestly. So he 
walked on and on through the A^alley until 
he reached the place where the rocks met, 
and there beside them he found the body of 
the child from which the spirit had de- 
parted. This he sorrowfully covered with 
earth and returned to his home in the valley. 

" I have been mistaken," he said to the 
next traveler who inquired the way of him. 
* ' There is no far country, for I went as far 
as man can go and found onl}^ the valley of 
the shadow of Death. Stay here with me 
and rest from your searching. Bej^ond 
this valley there is nothingness. " 

Then, after listening to the old man. one 
by one the travelers stayed and made for 
themselves homes among the rocks of the 



THE FAR COUNTRY. 259 

valley until there was founded a great city, 
and the city was called the City of Unbelief. 
And upon the dwellers in this city some- 
times the sun shone, and sometimes the 
storms descended, and they knew hunger 
and cold and desolateness, and pride and 
joy — because while they loved each other, 
life even in the City of Unbelief could not 
be wholly desolate . 

But to those who paused not in this city, 
nor gave up their faith in the far country, 
but persevered even unto the end of the 
valley, the rocky portals opened as they had 
done for the child and as they entered in and 
reached each one his own appointed place, 
they left behind them in the darkness of 
the borderland the shadows of their former 
selves. And in each heart was stilled for- 
evermore desire for more of life than they 
had reached. 

For, in the place of Desire dwelt Love, 
seeking no more, but giving out from its 
own fullness, and thus satisfied. So for 
these travelers there was no more A Far 
Country, for Love became their home, and 



260 THE FAR COUNTRY. 

Love, when once one understands its power, 
is always very near. 



